


Capitolina Lupa

by theRadioStarr



Series: The Lion Among the Wolves [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Familiars, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), POV Animal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 216,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRadioStarr/pseuds/theRadioStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lupa Lavellan is First of her Clan, a 'Capitoline' to Romulus, and Fen'Harel's Chosen. After losing the most important person in her life, her Clan hears of the Mage Rebellion, and she is sent by her Keeper to the Conclave. Lupa was always a curious and open-minded girl, and is excited to learn more about life outside of her Clan. </p><p>The Conclave doesn't go as expected, and Lupa decides to put her Clan life behind her to embrace her position in the Inquisition. She is still proud to be Dalish, however, and doesn't quite know what to do when the Inquisition's handsome and available shemlen Commander starts to grow on her. </p><p>This story will contain end-game spoilers from Inquisition and may contain spoilers from previous games as well. Please be careful about reading if you haven't completed all games (especially Inquisition!). It's mostly meant to be a story surrounding interactions and relationships between different characters, with some liberty taken with canon.</p><p>THERE IS NOW ART! By RabidTanuki on Tumblr. Take a look here: http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/post/124414361276/lupa-lavellan-for-capitolina-lupa-by-theradiostarr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely implied non-con in the prologue. Nothing too graphic on that front, but there's mildly graphic description of injury. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Just wanted to set up some back story on this one.

Lupa knew she was unconscious when the Fade refused to shift.

It was a trick she had learned long ago, and one that never failed her, in sleep. She was confused for a moment, and then suddenly petrified; what if a demon came upon her now? She was helpless.

And He would not be able to come to her here.

She concentrated on calming down before she attracted any unwelcome company, and realized after a few moments that the Fade was shifting around her. She tried again, fruitlessly, to twist it to her own whims, before realizing what it was showing her. Memories were flying past her, and she recognized them; they were all her own, from the time she had been born until her time at the Conclave. They swirled around her at a dizzying speed, but a few of the more prominent ones stuck out to her, as if cementing themselves anew into her being, as if they had been knocked loose and needed to be refiled.

It seemed the Fade had a mind of its own, today, and she could do nothing but watch.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_It was her Naming Day._

_At the time, she had no idea how her parents were struggling. She had been an interesting child so far, but she had shown them so much of herself in the year since she had entered this world that they had no idea what her Name was to be._

_She had seen movement beyond the edge of the camp, a quick brush of brown and gold fur; being an adventurous sort already, she had gone to investigate._

_Her mother and father had found her, an hour later, with a wolf mother and her three cubs: two were playing, one was suckling, and the mother was calmly licking some dirt off the little girl’s face. Her little blue eyes had brightened as she called to her parents, and the wolf had walked her back, as if trying to ensure her safety, before affectionately nipping the little girl’s ear (earning a giggle) and returning to her own young._

_The Keeper made a suggestion to the parents upon hearing the story, and the parents were full of pride._

_Their little girl would be known as Lupa._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was three when she first truly met Owain._

_He was the son of one of the clan’s healers, and one of their traders, both close with Lupa’s parents; a few years older than her. He had always looked out for her, from the time she was born, but she thought it a strange coincidence that day he helped her pluck a peach._

_She did not know yet what they were called, but she loved the little red and orange fuzzy fruit with the big pit in the middle. She would always find a place to bury the pit after she was done eating, insisting another tree grow to bring her more of their lovely fruit._

_They had just stopped the aravels to set up a new camp, and there were many fruit trees bordering their campsite. The branches were far out of reach for a child so small, though, and she was not yet strong enough to climb._

_“You hungry, little wolf?” he had asked, with a nickname he alone would have for her._

_“I want a fuzzy one, but I can’t climb,” she had pouted, and before she could even ask him to help her, he was halfway up the trunk to the lowest branches._

_She was scared for him when he continued to climb higher, almost to the top of the towering tree, but a few minutes later he had peaches in both pockets and was landing lightly on the ground._

_He dug one out and handed it to her, before biting in to one for himself._

_“They’re always best from the top of the tree. More sunlight for them to drink there,” he stated with a warm smile she hoped she would never forget._

_“Ma serannas,” she whispered shyly before sitting beneath the big tree and digging in._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was five when her magic surfaced._

_They were back, in that same glade with the giant fruit trees, and she still wasn’t strong enough to climb (though if she were being truly honest, she was just not very good at it). Owain was busy helping his mother set out stretchers for the injured hunters and everyone else she knew was too busy to simply help her get a peach._

_She was frustrated, bordering on angry (as only a small child can be this sort of predicament), when the smell of ozone filled the air. She frowned, confused, as it was a beautiful spring day; there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, why was she smelling rain? And then, as she turned back to the tree, she jumped as a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning hit it. She cried out, worried it had died, until she saw a single branch tumbling through its brethren towards the earth, two perfect peaches on its arm, and she ran to catch it before they could bruise._

_Catch it she did, but she was far more tired and hungry than she should have been in that moment. Again, she was confused, and plunked herself down in the shadow of the fruit tree to think about it while she enjoyed her peach._

_She saw her father running towards her, followed by the Keeper, who was not running, but walking with much purpose. She was annoyed again; she was tired and hungry and just wanted to eat her peach in peace, but then she was worried and a little scared when her father scooped her up as if he had almost lost her._

_“Do not worry, Mahanon,” the Keeper was saying to him, a small, proud smile on her face. “She will be fine. I believe I may finally have a First.”_

_There was a fierce pride in her father’s eyes now, and he kissed her nose, set her down and told her to stay out of trouble before leaving to go tell Ellana, her mother, the good news. The Keeper patted her affectionately on the head and returned to her work._

_Lupa ran all the way to Owain with her peaches, elated, to share both the fruit and the news with him._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was ten when her training as First began._

_She had spent a lot of time with Keeper Istimaethoriel since her incident with her favourite peach tree, learning how to control her magic and how to keep herself safe from the temptations of demons. These were things every mage needed to know as early as possible, and the Keeper had wasted no time._

_Today, she would begin learning about the history of the elves, of their Gods._

_And of course, of one God in particular._

_The Keeper made sure she knew first and foremost how dangerous the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel, would be to her. How He had tried to manipulate the Keeper, once, and how He would undoubtedly try to manipulate little Lupa in time as well._

_The Keeper was careful to describe Him to her: a towering wolf, with six ghostly red eyes the colour of blood and fur darker than midnight; how He had locked their Gods and the Forgotten Ones away, and how the People had suffered through the Ages for it; and how He alone waked free, with all-consuming hatred for the People, to try to turn Keepers and Firsts against their own through whispers in their dreams._

_Lupa had never been so afraid in her short little life._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was twelve when He first came to her._

_Every night since that day the Keeper had first told her of Him, she had fallen asleep on bated breath; and upon waking unmolested by His touch, had breathed a heavy sigh of relief._

_She was dreaming peacefully of a moment from a few days ago, when Owain had returned from Wycome on a trading trip with his father with the most beautiful flowers for her. She had blushed, shy and nervous, while the butterflies in her stomach took flight, and he had beamed at her as she took in a long breath to smell them. She had hung them from the roof of her shelter, so that she could smell them whenever she slept, and so they would dry so she could keep them forever._

_She noticed the six blue eyes that blinked at her across the treeline of her dream, clearer and brighter than raw lyrium. He stepped into view then, but He was not the dark towering wolf she had been warned about; He was shining white, cleaner than fresh snow, and she felt warm and strangely safe with His presence._

_She didn’t want to let down her guard, as she still didn’t trust Him, but it would be rude and perhaps unintelligent not to acknowledge Him._

_“Dread Wolf,” she whispered, trying to keep any sort of emotion from colouring her words. “I had wondered when you would be coming to see me.”_

_He cocked his head to one side, observing her. “I have waited too long for one such as you, Little One.” His voice was clear, but also echoed a little, and she realized He had spoken without moving. How would a wolf even form words with their mouths, anyway?_

_She was beginning to feel frightened then, and did not bother to try to hide it; had the Keeper not stressed that this was his realm?_

_“I am not here to manipulate you against your people, Little One. I have been gone for too long, and I wish to right what wrongs I have done.” She felt the sadness in His tone, so strong and deep she didn’t want to trust it, but it stirred something in her. “It is something I cannot do alone; the People do not trust me, and they blame me for their hardships, do they not?”_

_She took a moment before responding. “Perhaps we do, but I cannot simply take you at your word.”_

_He sat, and shook Himself off. “An offering, then. Would you like to see the truth?”_

_She hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her._

_He grinned, and it was a comical thing to behold his tongue lolling out one side of His toothy mouth._

_He showed her Arlathan, and the events leading to His exile of the Gods. She saw Him as He was then, a handsome elf with an angular face and such a head of hair as she had never seen. She saw Him escaping from the clutches of Andruil, who had kept Him for a year and a day as a slave to Her more primal desires; a punishment from Her for His rejection. She saw the slaves He had fought to free, the way they were marked as her clan was; not with pride, as they were, but with ownership and forced servitude._

_The images ceased after what seemed like forever (or no time at all), but Lupa longed to know more; she had learned so much more in this one night than any modern elf could ever dream of! And she felt a strange sense of truth in these images, whether she liked it or not. She couldn’t describe the feeling if she wanted to; it was akin to a great weight finally sitting comfortably where it was awkward and uncomfortable before._

_He was slipping away from her already._

_But she had so many questions to ask, how could He-_

_“Show these things to your Keeper, Little One. If you choose to trust me, I shall be back tomorrow.”_

_Then He was truly gone, and she felt the warmth of sunlight on her face._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was fourteen when Owain had his vallaslin applied._

_He was young, but not the youngest, to go through with the ritual. He had decided on June, after asking her to tell him all she had learned from Fen’Harel about the Gods as they were in the days of Arlathan._

_She was proud of him for his choice._

_He had spoken with his parents briefly before seeking her out. When he reached her, she took a moment to take his new image in. His vallaslin was a rich, clear dark blue, the perfect accent to his blue-black hair. The dark rims around his eyes made the storm grey of his irises pop, and the lines down his cheeks perfectly brought out his sharp features. He was clearly proud, standing much taller and straighter than she was used to seeing, and she had never felt her chest tighten or her stomach explode in butterflies as strongly as they did when he finally set his sights on her. He smiled at her and offered his arm. “Join me, Lady Harel?” his smile twisted his new tattoos so they melted her heart._

_As with his ‘little wolf,’ it was a nickname only he used for her. The rest of the Clan affectionately called her Fen’Harel’s Bitch._

_She had smiled at him proudly then, holding her bare face a little higher. “I would be honoured, lethallin.”_

_He had not been shy in his interests these last few years, and neither had she. Many of the Clan knew they would commit to each other in another few years, once she was given her vallaslin._

_She had revelled in the celebrations that night with him, and at the end he had walked with her to her shelter, placing a soft kiss on her cheek before bidding her goodnight._

_Fen’Harel did not linger with her this night, but promised to shelter her so she might enjoy her dreaming._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was fifteen when Dane, one of the Clan’s newest full-fledged hunters, had-_

No, she refused to watch this one, for she knew which one it was, and she tried again desperately to twist the Fade. It did not disappear entirely, but it obliged by skipping to a less painful part of the memory, and for that, at least, she was grateful.

_She had slept fitfully, but knowing Owain was with her, holding her hand, keeping watch to ensure she was safe, she had at least managed to drift off._

_It was the first time she would see Him as the Keeper had first described him to her, all dark fur and red eyes. He seemed to take up all her vision when He found her that night, and this was what would truly break her._

_She did not hide her pain from Him. “You too?” she whispered. “After all this time, you would turn on me?”_

_He growled, but she realized it was not at her. “I will not stand for this, Little One. He will pay.”_

_The fury in His words terrified her, but only for a moment. Then she was calm, for she understood why he stood over her, black as night._

_His stance was protective._

_“I will keep this place from disturbing you this night, Little One, and your lover will not leave your side. You will be safe. Do your best to sleep.”_

_With that, she went uninterrupted until dawn._

_When she woke, Owain was standing with his head hanging out of the door to her shelter, and she became aware of panicked shouting outside in the common area of the camp._

_She got up and dressed quickly, Owain explaining sombrely what he had observed: one of the Hunters had died on a patrol this morning._

_She did not need to ask to know which one._

_Dane was carried by his friends to the Keeper, and she began preparing a funeral service for him, to be held that night._

_It had been known to the camp what he had done to her the night before, and many were comforting her, claiming he deserved his fate, and happy to see that the Dread Wolf had protected her._

_Owain reminded her firmly that this was not her fault, for he knew her better than anyone else, and could see the guilt outlined in her face._

_*                             *                             *_

_Two months later, Romulus had come to her._

_She could not mistake him for anything but a gift from her Favourite Wolf, and the little white wolf pup with His lyrium blue eyes (though this one only had two) confirmed for her what she had already suspected: he had been created by Fen’Harel as her protector, for He trusted her Owain, but Owain could not be with her all the time the way little Rom could. He explained that Fen’Harel had brought him into this world the day Dane had met Falon’Din (or rather the place where Falon’Din should have met him), and that he had spent eight weeks growing strong enough to begin to protect her, but that he had much growing left to do._

_She knew he would be an incredible size, for Rom looked to be about the size of a half-grown pup already, and he was… only eight weeks old?_

_Owain was grateful that the Dread Wolf had sent Romulus to her, as he agreed with Him on this, and Lupa learned that He had visited Owain to explain this to him._

_She felt that day as if a great burden had lifted from her shoulders, and took a quiet moment to give thanks to all the Creators that her life had turned out as it had._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was sixteen when her vallaslin was applied._

_She was still very young, but the Keeper was confident she was ready. Lupa had spent a month designing it herself and had to put an illusion of it in place over her skin to give the Keeper the image she wanted._

_After all, Fen’Harel had no vallaslin._

_He had chosen her, and she could not choose another to devote herself to, not after all He had taught her about the People and their true history. She knew the truth of the vallaslin already, but she believed it served a different purpose now, as did her clan, and so she went ahead with it._

_It took the Keeper three days to complete. They had not been allowed to speak, nor to leave each others’ company, while the work was being applied._

_When she finally emerged to bathe before joining in on the celebration to her adulthood, Owain was waiting for her._

_He handed her a peach (still her favourite), and told her the feast would wait til she had bathed; he knew how much she hated being unclean._

_Many hours, one bath, and two bottles of the Antivan red wine she loved so much (which Owain had procured on their recent trip to Wycome) later, she found herself, quite drunk, on the riverbank with Owain. He was trying to help her rehydrate before bed in anticipation of the headache he was sure she’d have the following morning, but she was far from interested in anything but him._

_Finally, she was an adult, and finally, she could have him, claim him for herself. She had waited years for this moment and was not interested in being deterred from her desires._

_She had reached for him, her hands sliding down his sides to his waist, his hips, his waistband; finally she could shake off the fear, put the past behind her-_

_But Owain had grabbed her hands and pushed them away. “Not like this, vhenan,” he pleaded with her. “Please. I… do not want it to happen like this. You’re not exactly coherent, and I think you need to sleep.”_

_She was not hurt by his words, but grateful, and more than a little surprised by her reaction to them. She smiled and tried to stand, though she wasn’t very successful._

_Owain helped her back to her shelter, and as he tucked her into her sleeping roll, she grabbed his arm gently. “Ma serannas, vhenan,” she slurred. “I promise you, I will make it up to you.”_

_Owain raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”_

_But she was already asleep, curled up against Romulus (who had spent the night at her feet until Owain had sent him to bed) and she did not see the amused smile that graced his handsome face._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was twenty-one when Owain died._

_He had warned them all upon a return from Starkhaven that a rather unintelligent noble had thought it a great idea to have a phoenix smuggled in from the desert in western Orlais as a pet for his daughter, believing at his daughter’s insistence that it would be harmless. The noble was now dead, and the phoenix was roaming free in the Marches._

_The Starkhaven guards had told the Clan’s traders to kill it on sight._

_It had stumbled onto their bathing pond while Owain was alone cleaning the dirt from the road off. She had intended to join him when she finished her lunch, but found herself at the waterside far earlier than anticipated._

_She knew something was wrong when Romulus jumped up and took off with panic in his aura and a surprised yelp on the tongue._

_A moment later, a scream sounded from the pond that turned her blood to ice._

_By the time she got there, the phoenix was dead, her little Rom (who was not so little anymore) was covered in its blood, and Owain was gravely injured: there was a deep gash on his arm, and he seemed to be trying to hold his stomack back together. When she pulled his hands away, his guts began to spill out, and it took everything in her not to retch. She used what healing magic she could on him, and he seemed fine, if tired. She had helped him to their (now shared) shelter and tucked him in to bed._

_He had developed the fever the next day, and his mother learned he had been poisoned by the beast. Not knowing anything about phoenices, they tried what they knew. Nothing worked._

_His mother was as white as Romulus' coat when she told Lupa she didn’t think Owain would make it._

_He fought for another day and a half before removing the ring from his left hand’s fourth finger and handing it to her._

_It was a symbol she knew well, for her mother had done the same for her father when she was attacked on a hunt and knew she wouldn’t pull through._

_Owain was almost gone._

_She removed hers as well, slipping them both onto her right hand’s fourth finger before grasping his hand so desperately it seemed she could hold him there by sheer force of will._

_“Falon’Din is coming for me,” Owain said to her. It was quiet, and seemed to take too much effort. “Ir abelas, ma vhenan.”_

_“So soon. Why so soon?” She was trying desperately to hold back the tears. She didn’t want him to see them, didn’t want the last thing he felt to be guilt. “We were supposed to have the rest of our lives together, both of us… we were going to be parents in a few years. Why would this happen now?”_

_“I don’t know, vhenan. There must be a reason.”_

_She held his gaze for a moment. “Ar lath,” she whispered, but there was so much pain in those words she saw him frown, and she turned away._

_“Vhenan, I need you to promise me something.” He reached up and gently touched her face, turning her to look at him again. “Promise me you won’t be afraid to… move on.” When she cocked her head in confusion, he pressed on. “I cannot bear the thought of you going through life alone. I don’t want you to feel like you need to hold out for a dead man.”_

_She understood, but those words dug into her broken heart like knives made of salt. “I promise,” she told him firmly. “I... will not force something into being if it isn’t there, but I will not hold back if it is.”_

_“Ma serannas,”he said with relief in his voice._

_He was slipping quickly now, and she couldn’t take her still pond blues off of his stormy greys, which were cloudy and unfocused. She couldn’t. “Ar lath, ma vhenan,” she repeated._

_“Ar lath…” but his hand had gone slack, and his eyes were strangely glazed and glassy, and she wept, loudly and openly, for what was lost to her._

_*                             *                             *_

_She was nineteen, and she was sleeping._

She thought this was an odd one to show now, since everything so far had been chronological, but she recognized that something felt different about it, and wondered if she had risen from unconscious to sleeping. Curious, she let the vision play out before her before trying to find out for sure.

_Fen’Harel had come to her that night with a vision of the Emerald Knights, and more specifically, their Capitolines._

_It was a rank, or title, or something in between, for the ones who cared for the beasts of war: wolves like her Romulus, in every colour a wolf could be; war hounds like those the shemlen favoured; and their harts and halla, war mounts and beasts of burden alike, though none kept against their will_. _There were many Capitolines, but He showed her one in particular: her namesake._

_The first Lupa was the brightest Capitoline ever to live, and an inspiration to all. It was said she had been touched with the gift of talking to her animals, of knowing them better than her fellow elves._

_And that her talents were coveted by the Exalted armies._

_This much, at least, was true; He was showing her the day she had been slain in the Second March, how all her charges had stood between her and the shemlen who sought to claim her. She watched as the first Lupa begged one of her wolves, one of the last standing, to give her death before the shem could reach her._

_And it had; when they finally reached her, the wolf who spared her from them howled sadly before trying to take as many Chantry warriors down as it could._

_It was not long before the poor beast joined its brethren._

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa knew she didn’t need to see the rest of that memory, so she exerted her will and was happy to find the Fade shifted easily under her direction, going quiet as she bid it to.

She was a little surprised to find the white form of Fen’Harel still sitting beside her.

“I was wondering why that one came up out of order,” she admitted, and He turned to look at her with his head lightly cocked to the side. She realized he had no idea what she meant, and mumbled an incoherent explanation.

_“No matter, Little One. You’re sleeping now, but I think you will wake soon.”_ His voice, as usual, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“You showed me this on purpose, then?” she asked.

_“You are not exactly in a safe place,”_ He admitted, _“and I thought a piece of advice might be in order… You have learned and experienced much since leaving your Clan, Little One, and… it will be difficult for you, but perhaps it would be best if you put that life behind you for now.”_

She knew he was being unclear on purpose, hoping she would figure things out herself, or maybe His words had many meanings on different levels.

“I… ma serannas,” she said, for lack of anything better.

He growled, but it was not a menacing sound. She was used to it, and knew it to mean an acknowledgement of what she had said. The Dread Wolf picked himself up, nipped the end of her ear affectionately, and was gone before she could register what had happened.

The weight of the Fade was softening around her, and she knew she would wake soon. 


	2. Doth Life Begin Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decided to take chapter names from the Chant when they apply. Feels fitting with the way all the major story quests are named in-game the same way (and also because there's no information on the elves having organized religious text like the Andrastians do). 
> 
> This chapter has Romulus' first POV. He has a lot of interesting names for things, and I hope I've done enough to make it clear who/what he's talking about. 
> 
> Also sorry for the long 'retelling' here, but this seemed an excellent opportunity to set up a number of characters and their relationships. So far it's continuing into the next chapter because we haven't met Cullen yet, but after that I'm planning to keep it to a bare minimum.

She knew she was awake, but she didn’t open her eyes right away. Fen’Harel’s words were ringing in her ears: _“You are not exactly in a safe place”_ …

She knew He was right by the shackles weighing down on her wrists, by the way she had somehow been driven down onto her knees on a cold stone floor, slumped forward to keep from falling over. She knew He was right because she heard the sounds of the guards’ harsh breathing, of blades swishing through the air while they loosened their tense muscles.

And she knew He was right by the pain in her left palm, as it shot up her arm and arced across her spine with a flash of Fade green, causing her eyes to fly open and a surprised hiss to escape through her clenched teeth.

One of the guards jumped to inform a runner that their prisoner was finally awake, and Lupa took a moment to study the room. She was surrounded by guards with their swords drawn, all pointing at her. It was dimly lit, and she was surprised to see she was out in the centre of the room, not locked behind bars.

She was also grateful to see that Romulus was not with her.

Bound as they were, she would have known if he was dead; and since he had stayed in the valley while she approached the Temple for the Conclave, she was confident he would have been out of harm’s way. If he had tried to come to her here, he surely would have ended up on the end of someone’s sword (though not before taking down far too many).

Not that she knew what had happened, but if she was a high security prisoner to some party or another, there were only two answers: she had been discovered (which, if she were honest, would most likely end with her being kicked out at worst), or something had gone terribly wrong.

There were armoured footfalls outside her room, and she tried to school her expression into something… less pained. She wanted answers, but she knew she wouldn’t be the one asking the questions.

Two humans stormed into the room: both women, one with short cropped dark hair, with a braided halo and a rather impressive scar on her left cheek, in a full breastplate and patchy leather pants, a shield on her back and sword at her hip; the second had a sharp, long face, sporting full mail, a purple cowl, heavy boots, and no visible weapons.

Lupa changed her mind and wished her Little Rom was with her; she was not looking forward to this.

The guards had dropped their swords as the women entered the room and approached her; it was clear they held a great deal of power, or respect. Likely both. The cowled woman stopped in front of Lupa with a glare, while the dark haired woman with the sword circled around behind her. She stopped over Lupa’s left shoulder, and leaned into her ear.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Her accent was strange, but recognizable to any Marcher, Dalish or no: Nevarran. She was walking again, coming around to stand in front of Lupa with her companion. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead… Except for you,” she spat, shaking a finger in Lupa’s face.

“And you think I’m responsible.” Lupa didn’t make it a question, and neither of the women standing before her answered her.

“Explain this.” The Nevarran had reached for her left hand as the green light pulsed and the _pain_ , by the Dread wolf, the pain was shooting through her again. Having her hand roughly dropped back into her lap didn’t help.

“I can’t,” Lupa replied honestly.

“What do you mean, you _can’t_?” The Nevarran sounded like she was beside herself with fury.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there,” Lupa stated evenly, and would have been impressed with how even her tone was in that moment if not for the lingering pain radiating from the strange scar in her hand. It was bouncing around in her head, dull enough to allow her to follow what was going on, but strong enough to keep her from thinking as clearly as she would like.

Suddenly the Nevarran had a hold of the front of her shirt, and Lupa saw the woman’s eyes were full of anger, and pain. “You’re lying!”

The cowled woman stepped in finally, pulling the Nevarran off of Lupa and putting herself between the two. “We need her, Cassandra.” This one’s accent was difficult to place, though there were notes of Orlesian in it.

Well, at least Lupa had a name for the Nevarran.

Now the Orlesian one was turning towards to her, and this Cassandra was hanging back, near the door.

“I can’t believe it… All those people, dead?” The words slipped out of Lupa’s mouth before she could think on them, but she decided there were worse things to say in such a situation.

Neither of the women in front of her acknowledged her words. Instead, the Orlesian decided to continue the questioning, and Lupa appreciated the strength and restraint in the woman’s voice. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Lupa wanted to shake her head, but a memory was surfacing, hazy at first, then clear enough that she could make out the details.

_The same sickly green on her hand had been everywhere, in equal parts with the rough stone she seemed to be standing on. She took a moment to look around, to collect herself, and noticed a figure in the distance, shining gold. It seemed to be waving her forward._

_And then she was climbing, and being chased by awful spiders (it was always spiders; why couldn’t it be butterflies?). Her grip was failing, but the glowing form was extending a hand, and Lupa was reaching out desperately…_

“I remember running…” Lupa started slowly, feeling strangely removed from the vision that was playing out before her. “ _Things_ were chasing me, and then… a woman?” She had been glowing so brightly it had been hard to tell who or what she was, and Lupa had no other words to describe her.

“A woman?” The Orlesian was crossing her arms, head cocked to the side, clearly interested in what Lupa was saying but trying to look unaffected.

Lupa swallowed, her throat dry, and hung her head. “She reached out to me, but then…”

Cassandra was the one getting between her and the Orlesian now, though the Orlesian had not made a move towards Lupa. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she commanded. “I will take her to the Rift.”

Leliana… a lovely name. Very Southern. But what was this Rift Cassandra was taking her to? Was it some new form of execution practiced by the shemlen that she wasn’t aware of?

Lupa knew better than to ask, and was glad when the heavy iron bar she had been shackled to was removed and exchanged for rope; it may have been rougher, but it was far lighter.

Cassandra was rebinding Lupa herself, and Lupa changed her mind again, deciding to let her curiosity get the better of her. “What _did_ happen?”

Cassandra’s expression was grave, and Lupa began to suspect it naturally sat that way. “It… will be easier to show you.”

They began to walk, Lupa trailing behind Cassandra a few steps. As they came to a flight of stairs, the Nevarran woman turned to look at her. “What is your name?” Her tone was almost soft, and it took Lupa by surprise.

“My name?” Lupa repeated.

“Yes. We do not know, and cannot continue to simply call you ‘prisoner’. You are a person, and deserve at least to be named properly.”

Lupa was intrigued by the woman’s response, and opened her mouth to answer when Fen’Harel’s words echoed in her thoughts again.

_“I thought a piece of advice might be in order… perhaps it would be best if you put that life behind you for now.”_

His words suddenly made more sense.

She thought of the memory He had shown her, and a small smile played on Lupa’s face. “You… may call me Capitoline.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cassandra had cut the ropes binding Lupa’s wrists once they were safely through the village. She had explained upon exiting the Chantry (which was, of course, where Lupa was being held) that her strange new scar was connected to the giant, pulsing, Fade-green hole in the sky that they were calling the Breach. It was believed that the new magic could be used to fix what was wrong, but that it was, slowly and painfully, killing her.

Lupa would have agreed to help anyway, but she was sure this Cassandra thought she only agreed because she had limited time in which to prove her innocence. Cassandra had explained more about what had happened, how their Divine was dead, and how the entire village they were traipsing through had decided Lupa was the one at fault.

It was a lovely thing to think about.

Either way, both women were on the road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. There were roadblocks littered along the pathway (some whole, others destroyed), and fires burning all over the valley. Lupa was still unarmed, but not concerned; she had learned young to control her magic without use of a staff, should she need.

Partway up the road, the Mark on her hand flared again, making her cry out and driving her to her knees in the snow.

Cassandra stopped to help her up.

“How did I survive the blast?” Lupa asked without thinking. Was there truly any reason she had survived where others hadn’t? Was it Fen’Harel?

And as Cassandra started to explain, Lupa grew more and more incredulous. Walked out of a Fade Rift? The entire Temple and surrounding valley knocked flat? _Had_ Romulus made it out safely?

The magic in her hand felt strangely familiar, and she knew now that it must simply be because it was tied to the Fade. She was too busy thinking about anything to realize the second bridge they were crossing was giving out beneath them.

There were flashes of green everywhere, and then a Shade had materialized on the frozen river they landed on. Cassandra had run to engage one while a second was beginning to materialize in front of Lupa.

She happened to glance over her shoulder and spot an unharmed staff leaning against an abandoned crate. She lunged for it, feeling much more confident when she felt the smooth wood in her hands (she didn’t need it, but it would be easier to fight now if anything came too close to her), and began spinning it in earnest, calling lightning and fire until the Shade before her sank back into the ice.

“It’s over,” Lupa stated quietly, more to herself than anything. She was quite adept at many forms of magic, but combat magic like this was not something she had ever needed before. She found it strangely tiring.

Now Cassandra was approaching Lupa, sword still drawn, her face stormy. “Drop your weapon. _Now_.” Her soft tone was gone, taking again the commanding edge it had possessed in the dungeon.

Lupa considered reminding this woman that she didn’t truly need a staff, but decided it was in her best interests to simply go along. “All right,” she agreed, though a little bitterly. “Have it your way.”

“… Wait.” Cassandra was sheathing her blade, her expression softening again almost as quickly as it had soured a moment ago. “You do not need a staff, but you should have one. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.” She turned to look at the Breach a moment, then looked back at Lupa, over her shoulder. “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

Lupa nodded in thanks, and pressed onward.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus was getting impatient.

The Wolf Father had told him He had visited her; she was well, but not exactly safe, and he should continue to keep his distance.

But Romulus was the colour of snow, and did not need his eyes to see.

The Walking Storm had entered the Building Of Prayer with the Crow Mother after a runner had frantically delivered a message he couldn’t quite hear. He waited quietly to see what would become of it, but before he knew if they emerged or not, he had felt the earth shake with a nearby impact.

He picked himself up from the snow slowly; he knew he would be able to survive this encounter, no matter how many of the blighted Things From The Beyond had fallen.

Romulus threw himself at the nearest, a small thing of little power or significance, and it didn’t take long for it to return to The Beyond. Just as he was turning to another, he felt her magic fill the valley.

Romulus had never known relief quite like this; it washed over him like standing beneath a waterfall, and found himself howling instead of fighting. Not that she or the Walking Storm, who was with her, actually needed his help, and when they were done the fight, Romulus launched himself at her.

His Wolf Sister was alive.

She fell back into the snow and it fluttered around them, settling back into his fur while he nuzzled into the hollow of her neck before biting the end of her ear. Images rushed from him, of seeing the explosion and the Portal To The Beyond scarring the sky, of how he imagined her to be dead, nothing more than ash and twisted corpses on the floor of what was left of the Temple; all of the terrible thoughts and feelings that had crossed his mind were flowing through her, and when he lifted his nose from her ear to look at her again, he saw tears in her eyes.

He hung his head, then, and she chuckled at him as she felt his guilt wash over her.

The exchange had taken less than a moment, but the Walking Storm was certainly concerned, and Romulus turned to look at the woman with a warning in his eyes before letting his Wolf Sister up.

“Please, Cassandra, everything is fine,” his Lupa was saying. “He is my companion. You can put your sword away.”

“He is your...” Romulus heard the question in the woman’s words, but there was also disbelief. “He is… a giant wolf. And he is your _companion_?”

“Well, ‘companion’ isn’t right, but it’s the closest I can think of to describe it,” Lupa admitted.

The Walking Storm smelled of frustration, and… fear? Romulus was almost proud; he was certainly terrifying, but to intimidate such a seasoned warrior was a new feat.

She finally decided to sheath her sword and put her shield across her back again, taking her time to do so. “It seems I have no choice but to let you take him along with us. I cannot deny having such a beast on our side will be a great advantage.”

“He is not just a ‘beast’,” Lupa whispered as the other woman turned away from them, and Romulus had to laugh at the defeat in her tone.

The strange coughing noise that escaped him was one his Wolf Sister was well accustomed to, but had the Walking Storm, the one they called Seeker, turning around again with concern in her eyes.

“That… does not sound healthy, Capitoline.”

Had this woman called his Wolf Sister ‘Capitoline’? He threw a questioning glance her way, head cocked, and she shrugged and winked at him. Romulus began laughing again.

“No need to worry, Cassandra. He’s found something rather amusing. You’ll get used to it.” 

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas was tired of fighting demons.

He had tried, when the Breach first appeared in the sky, to help them, but whatever they were before, they were no longer.

Being forced from the Fade into the realm of the living and met with swords and magic would change even the most benevolent spirit into something terrible. The number of Terror, Fear, and Despair demons he had sent back home were proof enough of that.

He heard a howl in the distance, all too familiar, and was mortified when he couldn’t tell if it was a mourning sound or not.

Something was whizzing past Solas’ ear, and he spun to see a Shade sinking into the stone beneath his feet.

“Careful, Chuckles! Now’s not the time to be worrying about the local wildlife!”

The dwarf was right, of course, and Solas turned his attention back to the Rift, which was spitting out another round of Shades and Wisps to fight.

_At least we aren’t dealing with Pride_ , he thought, staff spinning and slamming into the ground as he watched the purple lightning arc between two of the Wisps that were harassing some of the soldiers he was fighting with.

They fought through two more waves before the Seeker showed up with his Little One and her Wolf. He would have loved nothing more than to run and sweep her up in a fatherly embrace, to pinch the end of her ear like he would always nip it in the Fade; but he couldn’t let on that they knew each other, or his precarious position would make hers worse, and he would have to twist another lie to explain how a Dalish elf would know a flat-ear so well.

That, plus his Little One had never seen his Elvhen form like this, and so wouldn’t know it was him.

It was good that they had made it. He didn’t know how the magic in her hand would work against the Rifts, but he had examined it while she slept, and theorized that it might be tied to them, therefore making it possible she could close them. Once the latest wave of demons was gone, he could test his theory.

With the extra help of two fresh fighters and a giant wolf, the most recent wave went down so quickly, he almost wondered if he had imagined them materializing. Without waiting another moment, he grabbed his Little One’s wrist and thrust her hand towards the Rift.

“Quickly!” he yelled. “Before more come through!”

There was shock on her features, and pain, but the Rift was reacting: stretching, thinning, twisting, and then slamming shut, more loudly than he expected, the boom echoing through the valley below.

It didn’t matter. The Rift was closed and gone.

Lupa had jerked her hand from his grip the moment it was done, and she was massaging her wrist. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he was desperate to make progress.

“What did you do?” she asked him, almost accusing.

Her tone hurt, but he reminded himself that she didn’t know him from another flat-ear. “I did nothing,” he replied lightly. “The credit is yours.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out what was going on. No doubt his aura was familiar to her, and he was wary she might say something to give him away. Romulus could have told her, but there was no guarantee the others would not hear him (or see what he was showing her, as was his way), and the wolf was doing a good job of copying her defensive stance, even though Solas knew the wolf knew him.

“ _I_ closed that thing? How?” she asked finally, with some disbelief in her tone.

Her curiosity was one of the things he loved most about her; it was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place.

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that Mark upon your hand.” His expression had taken on one of a proud scholar talking about his works, and he decided it was a good expression to have, so he left it on. “I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

The Seeker had been standing back before, but she began to close the distance between them now, standing just on the other side of his Little One’s right shoulder. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” She did not make it a question.

“Possibly.” His hands folded in front of him, and he offered a small, tight smile to Lupa. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

It was close to something he had said to her once, too long ago, when she was newly his student. She recognized the way he said it, or perhaps the words themselves, and she blinked slowly in recognition before her expression started to brighten. His hardened in warning, but the dwarf chimed in before either of them could say anything.

“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He was shouldering his crossbow with a gloomy expression on his face.

There was certainly truth to his words, and Solas had learned that the dwarf was too clever for his own good. He swore he would forever be indebted to the other, because it had taken Lupa’s attention away from him, and away from an awkward explanation of his true identity.

Now the dwarf was approaching her, adjusting his gloves as he introduced himself. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally ‘unwelcome tag-along’.” There was extra emphasis on those last two words, followed by a wink towards the Seeker.

“ _Eugh_ ,” Cassandra replied with a sneer.

Solas had never heard such an impressive sound of disgust in his entire life.

Lupa had her head cocked slightly to the side. “Are you with the Chantry, or…”

Romulus was laughing, and Solas gave a chuckle as well. “Was that a serious question?” He knew she wasn’t too familiar with the shemlen religion, but anyone looking at the dwarf could tell he was no Chantry priest.

Varric was adjusting his gloves again; it appeared to be a bit of a nervous habit. This time, though, he seemed to be trying to burn a hole through his thumb with his eyes. “Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

Cassandra stepped in then, expression soft. Well, softer than usual. “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.” Varric had finally let his hands fall to his side again.

There was a bit of an awkward silence, no one quite sure how to follow that up. Lupa decided to break it, gesturing awkwardly toward the ornate weapon slung across Varric’s back. “That’s a… nice crossbow you have there.”

“Ah, isn’t she?” Varric looked over his shoulder proudly and gave the stock of his bow an affectionate pat. “Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“You named your crossbow Bianca?” Lupa countered, an eyebrow raised and amusement in her voice. Romulus was laughing again.

“Of course,” the dwarf stated matter-of-factly, “and she’ll be great company in the valley.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra commanded before breathing a short, heavy sigh. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric cut her off. Solas was impressed by how little the tiny man seemed to fear the woman in charge. She was incredibly intimidating, but he stood toe to toe with her. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” His last words were followed by a sly grin.

Cassandra made a beautiful disgusted noise again, and Solas bit back a chuckle.

His Little One seemed to be a bit lost, and he tried to turn the conversation into something more comfortable for her. He realized he could take the opportunity now to subtly let her know that the others had no idea who he was.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” She had turned to look at him again, and he saw an eyebrow raise a fraction. Had he not known her so well, he wouldn’t have even registered the change in her expression. He added, with all the honesty he could possibly muster, “I am glad to see you still live.”

Varric may not have understood what he truly meant, but he apparently felt it helpful to clarify Solas’ multi-layered statement. “He means, ‘I kept that Mark from killing you while you slept’.”

She was still looking at him, and Solas saw mischief shining in her eyes. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she stated evenly.

“Solas is an apostate, well versed in such matters,” the Seeker explained, and Solas was grateful for it. It would give his Little One context for who he had told them he was.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he responded academically. Returning his attention to Lupa, he continued. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, then we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

His Little One seemed to be considering his words carefully. “That’s a… commendable attitude,” she settled on.

Solas smiled at her. It seemed she understood what was going on now, and was happily playing along. “Merely a sensible one, although sense appears to be in short supply right now.” His expression turned grave again as he turned his attention back to the Seeker. What he had to tell her was the truth, but he also hoped it would make his Little One’s life a little easier from here on out. “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike anything I have seen.” Okay, so maybe that part was a blatant lie. “Your prisoner is a mage, yet I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

The Seeker simply nodded. “Understood. We must get to the forward camp, quickly.”

She had begun to take off, and Solas made to follow, but a gentle hand on his bicep made him pause and turn around. His Little One had so much softness in her eyes, he almost swept her up in a hug and had to restrain himself. Again.

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she whispered to him.

He chuckled quietly. “I am not your hahren, lethallin.” But he said it kindly, and this time, she allowed him to follow the Seeker.

“Well… Bianca’s excited!” He heard Varric say awkwardly from behind him, and then the five of them were on their way.

 


	3. Who Could Cross the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupa gets to talk to Solas a bit, and explains how Romulus communicates. Also we finally meet Cullen!

“What shall we call you, lethallin?”

They were back on the frozen river, and ‘ _Solas_ ’ had fallen back a bit and allowed her to catch up to him again. He had asked loudly, for Varric’s benefit, no doubt.

“I am Capitoline,” she replied with a sidelong glance at him. Pride. She knew exactly why he had picked such a name for himself, but she still wanted to laugh at it.

“That’s too long for me, Wolfy,” Varric threw over his shoulder.

“Well, whatever works for you, then, Stoney,” she replied.

Varric laughed, but left it alone. Solas did a good job of pretending to mull it over.

“Capitoline…” he muttered. “Ah. I remember now, yes. A fitting name, lethallin, given your furry companion. And what might his name be?”

“Romulus,” she replied loudly enough that the others ahead could hear as well. Neither of them had considered to ask, but she was used to it - many didn’t.

Their conversation was cut short by demons, but it didn’t take long to clean them up. Romulus was being strangely affectionate for the moment, and was pushing between her elbow and her ribcage with his nose to try to get under her arm for a half hug. A tone of concern fluttered across her vision, and she smiled at him.

“I’m fine, Rom. How are you holding up?” Lupa muttered. She was sure the others had felt it when he spoke to her, so she spoke outwardly for their benefit.

She saw a muddle of feelings and bodily sensations, but she concluded he was healthy and whole. She had asked him more out of habit and courtesy; if he were truly injured, she was sure she would know immediately.

Lupa didn’t know what a Seeker was, but theirs was turning to look at them with an uncomfortable expression. “Is that how he usually… communicates?”

Lupa decided there was nothing to be lost from honestly here. “Well, he understands language, but it takes effort for him to try to ‘speak’ it, forming words with his voice, even though he communicates telepathically. Images and visions of physical feelings and emotions are much easier. I’m sorry if it bothers you, but it’s also very difficult for this sort of communication to be channeled to only one person, unless that person is alone, of course.”

“How does it work?” Varric asked. “Magic and the Fade and stuff is even more weird to dwarves than normal folks, I can’t even fathom how he can even _do_ that. And why do you have a pet wolf that’s taller than me? Seriously, that has got to be a great story.”

“Well, it’s similar to how mages draw energy from across the Veil, I suppose,” Lupa answered. “I think it spreads out over auras best, but can also be channeled through the Veil itself in this case. He can stretch his aura quite wide, but anyone it surrounds will hear what he’s saying, so he tries not to talk over too long a distance.” She purposely ignored his last question.

“You _ever_ gonna share the story of how you two met, Wolfy? I’m waiting,” Varric teased.

“Perhaps another time,” Lupa promised, then. “It’s a bit difficult for some to wrap their heads around, and the middle of a battle probably isn’t the best time to try.”

“Fair enough. I’m holding you to that, Wolfy, and I won’t forget.”

Cassandra waited a moment to see if the conversation would continue before speaking up again. “Capitoline, it might be best if you… ‘translate’ for us when Romulus is communicating, or simply let us know he is speaking to you.” It was a request made softly yet strongly, as if she was concerned about offending someone but needing to ask anyway. Perhaps she was just uncomfortable with the idea of being privy to a potentially private conversation.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Lupa replied, as kindly as she could without sounding terribly fake.

They stumbled across some more demons when they went the wrong way, and afterwards, Lupa and Solas allowed Varric and Cassandra to get ahead of them. They were arguing, Varric poking at Cassandra just enough to annoy her, and it was a perfect opportunity for Lupa to talk to Solas without fear of being overheard.

“So… Solas?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“I thought it a good reminder…” he replied, a dreamy and far-off quality to his voice she hadn’t expected. He came back to himself suddenly after a few moments. “Capitoline was a good choice. And thank you for understanding my warning.”

“Thank Varric for cutting you off before I melted in relief,” Lupa countered apologetically. “You’ve set a good cover for yourself.”

“I hope so.” Solas’ gaze was far-off again, and Lupa couldn’t say why. “Depending on the outcome of this… I do not know if they will put you to use as a prisoner, or set you free for helping with all of this. I don’t think they truly believe you guilty, but they needed someone to place the blame on. If they set you free, will you choose to stay?”

Lupa took a moment to consider, absently massaging one of Romulus’ ears as he walked beside her. “I want to help. Not only the People, but just… regular people. And if this new magic with this Mark on my hand can close Rifts, then how could I _not_ put it to use? The Creators only know how many of the stupid things are out there, and if I can save a few more lives by closing them…” She trailed off, sudden images of burning homes and screaming children and dead bodies filling her vision-

Romulus sent a wave of peace sweeping in front of her eyes, and she blinked in surprise. “Ma serannas,” she whispered to him, before noticing that Cassandra and Varric were stopped ahead, both looking at her expectantly. “Just for me,” she clarified quietly.

They were quiet for a time, then, allowing Lupa to think in peace. The most surprising fact to her was that Fen’Harel was actually _here_. She had never actually seen him before, as he had always come to her in dreams in his lupine form, and he had definitely looked different when she saw his Elvhen form in his memories. Even his voice was different here, not quite as deep, much smoother, and the accent was slightly different; it reminded her of one of the other Clans that roamed the Marches. His lack of hair made him almost unrecognizable, but she had known there was something, and his magical aura had been what tipped her off.

_It seems you hold the key to our salvation._ He had said something similar to her, not long after they had first met, and then all the pieces had fallen into place.

_With the knowledge I give you, Little One, you will hold the key to their salvation._ It had made her uncomfortable then, when she was only twelve years into this world. He had put the weight of the People’s future on her shoulders.

Now he put the weight of the world.

This would be so much easier to achieve than teaching the Dalish their true history, though, so the weight didn’t seem to be as heavy. She would have companions, and that meant help.

Provided she didn’t end up executed once the Breach was closed. Or simply dead from the effort.

She thought they might have finally found their way now; it had been hard to see the path past the burning cottages by the lake. As they approached, her new Mark flared again. The pain was becoming a constant, and was not as shocking as it had been the first few times. Still, she hissed through gritted teeth and flexed her hand to try to shake the discomfort.

Cassandra must have noticed her squirming. “Hold on,” she said reassuringly, “we haven’t much further.”

With the silence broken, Varric decided to speak up. “So… _are_ you innocent?”

“I don’t remember what happened,” Lupa replied truthfully.

“That’ll get you every time,” Varric replied sadly. “Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what _you_ would have done.” There was a clear note of distaste in Cassandra’s voice.

“It’s more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution,” Varric shot back sarcastically.

More demons were blocking the way, and Cassandra seemed to be on edge. “I hope Leliana made it through all this.” She almost made it sound like a prayer, as if she were speaking to no one in particular.

“She’s resourceful, Seeker.” Varric’s tone was soothing.

Solas was trying to be a voice of reason. “We will see for ourselves at the forward camp. We are almost there.”

When the green flashed in her hand this time, the sensation was different: it was like a magnet was pulling on her, so strong she had no choice but to allow it to drag her in.

Cassandra confirmed Lupa’s suspicion. “Another Rift!”

“We must seal it! Quickly!” Solas had taken a place near her right side, and was already spinning his staff.

A soldier was asking for their help, but Lupa barely heard it. She was putting all her concentration into casting her spells.

With her Clan, she had no need for offensive magic like she did here. She was unaccustomed to such elemental forces as she was wielding now.

A wisp kept launching attacks at her, and she set her sights on it, thrusting the tip of her staff forward and sending a rocket of fire flying toward it. It did the trick, and the wisp disappeared quickly.

When everything was taken care of, Solas called out to her again. “Use the Mark, quickly!”

This time, Lupa stretched out to the Rift herself. She had no idea how she was going to connect with it this time, without the shock of being roughly grabbed to close it like the last one. She raised her left hand tentatively, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she found that it connected with little more than a gesture.

She observed the green ribbons connecting her to the Rift with a disconnect that surprised her, and followed them along to take in the Rift itself. It had gone from a ragged, rough, rocky looking thing to an amorphous blob of Fade goo. As her Mark worked, the goo grew longer, almost into the shape of doors being forced wide open, or like a wide rock that was slowly splitting. It fought back, twisting and stretching and trying to reconnect itself.

She felt something trying to pull her in, and instinctively she pulled her hand back, trying to break whatever grip this Fade Rift _thing_ had on her, and she was surprised to feel the Rift shatter with a resounding boom, like great wooden doors being slammed shut.

“The Rift is gone. Open the gate,” Cassandra commanded.

The soldiers were quick to respond. “Right away, Lady Cassandra!”

“We are clear for the moment. Well done.” If Lupa hadn’t known Solas so well, she would have missed the strange mixture of relief and pride in his tone.

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful,” Varric added.

At this point, Lupa didn’t care. It all caught up to her, very suddenly: she had slept, but she didn’t feel like it. She was exhausted, and _starving_ , and had no idea what was going on here. Every minute seemed like an hour, and she just wanted to sink into a plate of stew and a bedroll.

Romulus was pushing himself under her arm again, and she welcomed the support. Whatever happened, she knew she could always count on her little Rom to help her through it.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus didn’t like the way Lupa had slumped forward after that Tear In The Beyond was closed. Her scent had changed drastically: the adrenaline was gone, and now she smelled like something he was hunting, hollow and tired and washed out.

She leaned on him as they passed through the gate, and he noticed a crate with little bottles full of the strange red liquid the Walking Storm had given them all. Romulus wasn’t sure they others were aware of it, so he tried to let them know.

He thought of them all checking themselves over for injuries, taking a potion, and then someone reaching down to the crate to redistribute the little bottles out.

The one they called Seeker was already nodding, his message very clear this time. “An astute observation. You’re quite right. Is everyone okay?”

Lupa had immediately uncorked one and was already done with it. Her scent stabilized into something stronger, but Romulus was worried.

The rest were busy making sure they had room to carry their fresh stock, so he asked her if she had been fed. He saw the others turn to them again, and she shook her head.

He growled despite himself.

There was nothing he could do anyway: he could hunt something for her, but there was no time to cook it, and he couldn’t shake any fruit down from a tree for her because it was too cold here for fruit trees to grow. Instead, he turned his attention to the Walking Storm.

The woman’s expression was pained and she smelled a little fearful. “I am sorry, I did not think…”

“It’s fine Cassandra, I’ll make it. I’m just… very tired,” Lupa responded weakly. “Let’s just keep moving. It’ll be easier if we do.”

The Wolf Father was handing her more of the little bottles to store away. “When this is done, I will make sure you get something to eat,” he promised her solemnly.

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she whispered, again.

They began to move, and Romulus realized the Walking Storm was directing them to the Crow Mother, who was in a heated debate with the Bitter One. The man was like a wound left to fester, and Romulus wished one of the women in charge here would amputate him before he poisoned the whole organization they had carefully built.

The Walking Storm was making introductions, and Romulus was about to start cleaning the dirt from his fur when he heard the Bitter One say something about an ‘execution’.

Now Romulus was _really_ growling, the sound rising from deep in his chest, ears back, hackles raised, lips pulled back halfway in an aggressive snarl; there was only one person they would consider ‘executing’, and they would have to go through him first. The stupid man who had tried to order such a thing stood his ground, but the air was thick with his fear, and Romulus knew he could deal with this snake before it could rear its head again, preparing to spring forward-

Her hand was on his head, gentle but strong, and he relaxed his stance from hostile to defensive. She was right, of course: the Bitter One hadn’t been dealt with because he posed no true threat.

That didn’t mean Romulus would forget the insult.

Now they were discussing which way to approach the Temple. He waited and listened patiently while they discussed which path to take, and was as surprised as his Wolf Sister when they asked for her opinion.

She looked at him, questioningly, and he suggested moving with the soldiers. From what he understood, the scouts on the mountain pass were already considered lost, and if they were already dead, they would just be losing more soldiers by taking that path.

“I’m sorry, Leliana, but he makes a fair point,” Lupa was saying apologetically. The Crow Mother simply nodded. Romulus wondered if she had understood. 

The Walking Storm was telling the Crow Mother to do something, and then they were moving again, off to help the soldiers keep the Things From The Beyond at bay.

Romulus hoped they were more intelligent than the Bitter One.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen watched another of his new recruits fall to a Shade, and cursed to himself under his breath.

They were all exhausted, himself included, but this was the only way to keep the pilgrims and refugees safe. He wasn’t sure when his sword and shield had become so heavy, but he knew it was a bad sign. He was spent, and the Maker only knew how much longer they would have to keep going.

A new batch of soldiers might be coming in shortly, but there was no one to relieve the Commander.

He threw himself into the fight again as more demons rose up from the stone around them, and didn’t know how long it was before he heard the Seeker calling out challenges to the twisted creatures, the familiar click of Varric’s crossbow, and Solas’ familiar magical signature.

His relief was palpable, and he was about to throw himself back into the fray, _again_ , when a giant ball of snow white fur streaked past him with a snarl. He followed its trajectory, shocked and distracted, but was glad to see the beast was ripping out the throat of a Shade. The demon’s ichor was sticky and black as it sprayed out from its fatal wound, and the poor beast was covered in it. Cullen could see now that it was a wolf, but larger than any he had ever seen.

The moment felt longer than it had been, but when the beast turned its lyrium blue eyes to him before launching back into the fray, Cullen shook his disbelief and charged at the nearest demon.

A new magical signature was filling the air, and the demon he had been about to attack went down in a shock of purple lightning, which arced between the helpless form and another Terror. The Terror, unable to move for a moment, was encased in ice before it could gather itself up again, and Cullen smashed it with his shield. The demon shattered, ichor and sickly flesh spraying everywhere as its life force was dragged back into the Rift.

With the last demon down, the Rift began to regain and conserve its energy, changing from the ragged crystal to the liquid ball that meant they could have a few minutes of reprieve. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have a few moments to shake out his tense muscles.

He sheathed his sword, and his attention was drawn to a small hooded figure approaching the Rift. Whoever they were, they had a staff across their back, and he immediately committed their magical signature to memory. They definitely weren’t Circle trained; he guessed Dalish, though with the hood up, he couldn’t be sure. He had registered other magical signatures like this one’s, more peaceful and wild and self-assured than Chantry mages. A Chantry mage wouldn’t have struggled to call the lightning and ice the way this mage had.

He watched curiously as the giant wolf approached the new mage. It was clean white again, but the snow it had been rolling in to get clean was stained black as pitch. The mage placed their right hand on the huge beast’s head calmly before stretching their left hand to the Rift.

From this angle, he could make out the mage’s female form, and when the thin green ribbons of magic unfurled from her hand and connected to the Rift, he realized this was their prisoner.

He watched as she struggled back and forth with the Rift; she seemed to be waiting for something, and a moment later he watched her jerk her hand down and back, followed by a resounding crash.

The Rift was gone.

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen whispered to himself in relief. He took off his helmet and ran a hand through his curls to tame them before turning back to approach the Seeker and the prisoner.

He hadn’t been to see her in the dungeons when she had been brought in, having been too busy with the Rifts that had popped up all over the place. It had been some of Leliana’s scouts that had found her. If this _was_ their prisoner, then he had been right; he had been told she was Dalish by a runner shortly after she had been discovered.

He allowed himself a moment of pride. Just because he was off the lyrium, didn’t mean he had lost his skills.

Both the prisoner and the Seeker were moving to meet him halfway when the prisoner reached up and brought her hood down.

Cullen stopped dead in his tracks.

He had seen plenty of Dalish elves in his day, but her tattoos were unlike anything he had ever seen. He registered her true set of eyes: soft, almond shaped, the outer corners angled slightly upwards; irises the colour of a still pond, or maybe the colour of the sky at the very first touches of dawn, bright and clear and dangerously intelligent. Then he registered the two _extra_ pairs, clearly not real, but strangely lifelike at the same time: one set was set wide apart over her brows, outer corners angled more sharply than her true pair, the irises the colour of blood, making him think of all the phylacteries he had drawn before leaving the Order; the second set wide on her high cheekbones, irises the same colour as the wolf at her side, a clear lyrium blue, inner corners angled up towards her true pair. He registered her straight nose, coloured black under the tip, almost like a dog ( _or a wolf,_ he thought as he saw a similar shape on the snout of her…pet?), a strong but soft chin and jaw, and the light copper-gold lines that covered her face, reminding him of fur. He admired the way they accentuated all the shapes of her face, and followed them past her jaw to her neck and past her collar, and he found himself wondering how extensive they were, just how much of her was covered in the delicate tattoos, just how long it had taken-

“Commander?” Cassandra broke Cullen’s train of thought, and he realized he must have been staring at her awkwardly. His hand slowly reached up to the back of his neck as he felt the heat surging to his face.

“I… forgive me,” he mumbled pathetically.

He was still looking at her, and he registered a subtle change of expression on her face. She had an eyebrow raised lightly, head cocked to one side playfully, and a sly grin turning up one corner of her narrow mouth with soft, half-full lips, like an over-eager mabari with a length of rope and some downtime. He admired the way the extra pairs of eyes were in a perfect position to mirror the expression in her true pair. Her hair was bright, in the same copper gold colour as the faint lines on her skin, and he saw gold and silver rings lining the outer rim of her long, pointed ears, from lobe to tip on her left ear, but stopping about an inch short of the tip of her right ear. She reached up to rub the bare end of her ear when she saw him drinking in the sight of it, a pair of matching silver rings on her fourth finger catching the weak sunlight, and her voice was far from what he expected: similar to a Starkhaven brogue, but lighter, softer, almost musical in its lilting cadence. “It’s all right, Cassandra,” she said, amusement in her voice. He wondered how many times this elf had said those words already today. “I’ve been told my appearance can be rather… intimidating. Especially to humans who aren’t prepared for it.”

Cullen was surprised by her tone; he had expected it to be condescending, but it was mostly mischievous, and if he didn’t know any better, he may have even called it flirtatious.

_Did she just_ wink _at me?_ he though, his chest going tight and heat rising to his face again. Maybe he hadn’t been so far off. He wanted to reach up to his neck again, but made a conscious effort to place both hands on the pommel of his sword instead, trying to regain a professional demeanor.

He made himself look away from the elf, towards the Seeker again. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. You managed to close the Rift? Well done.”

She looked unimpressed, but let the matter go.  “Do not congratulate me, Commander. You saw for yourself: this is Capitoline’s doing.”

Her name was Capitoline? He found himself thinking that it…didn’t fit her. “Well, I hope they’re right about you,” he said to the elf. “We lost a lot of good people getting you here.” He realized he sounded threatening, and cursed inwardly for it. He certainly didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.

Capitoline was playing with one of the wolf’s ears, massaging it from the base to the tip with her thumb on the inside and two long, slender fingers on the outside, the heel of her palm resting on the crown of the beasts head. He was mesmerized by the motion until she responded again. There was uncertainty in her voice when she did. “You’re not the only one hoping that.”

The wolf leaned in to her, and she stopped massaging its ear to drop her arm over its shoulders. She looked weary.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” Cullen tried to say it softly, but again, it sounded more insulting than he intended. Slightly embarrassed, he turned his attention back to the Seeker. “The way to the Temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

Cassandra looked toward Capitoline, and nodded once. “Then we had best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.” Her expression was dark.

Cullen started to back away. He had men who needed his help: injured to tend to, dead to collect, living to see to. He noticed Capitoline looking at him again, and invoked a prayer before turning his back on them. “Maker watch over you – for all our sakes.”

Then he turned his back on them. One of his soldiers was limping badly, and he rushed to give the poor man some support.

As he helped his soldier back to a healer, Cullen could think of only one thing: the look on her face as she winked at him.

His chest was tight again, and he cursed inwardly. He barely knew the woman! But he recognized the feeling: he hadn’t felt it in a long time, not since Kinloch Hold, since before he had been forced to put a blade through the girl’s heart when her Harrowing took too long.

By the Maker, if this poor elf ended up like her-

He felt her magic flare distantly, the sounds of fighting following shortly after, and he silently offered another prayer for her protection.

_For all our sakes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture her to be very Gaelic, so her accent is supposed to be Irish. 
> 
> Also I never played a female mage in Origins, so I imagined this was her fate if she didn't become the Warden. Not sure if it's canon or not, but we're only barely following canon here anyway, so what's one more detail? 
> 
> Next Chapter is in the works, but only just being started. May be a bit longer for the next update.


	4. From These Emerald Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I learned that writing smut is really hard.
> 
> Pun intended, I guess. 
> 
> Unfortunately, it's not Cullen yet. A little more backstory for Lupa this chapter.

Lupa had hoped Romulus was exaggerating when he showed her images of the Temple after the explosion.

The most disturbing part of the whole thing were the corpses: some were still smoking, some still kneeling; they looked like they had been drained and preserved, then left out in the sun to dry, skin stretched taut and leathery over their skeletons, screams forever plastered on their faces.

Lupa pulled her hood back up, hoping to use it as a shield against the vision before her, like a small child afraid of a demon reaching out and grabbing their ankle if it comes untucked from a blanket.

What was most confusing to her was that _she_ was the only one to survive this devastation. What had made her life worth more than any of the others in attendance? She was nothing but a little elf from a tiny Clan with the blessing of a Rebel God and a dead lover.

She was too exhausted to feel guilty about her behaviour with the Commander. He was a pretty thing, even for a shem, with his bright blonde curls slick with sweat from the fight, eyes the colour of the raw honey her father would make his mead with; the way his pupils had dilated when she lowered her hood as he practically drank in the sight of her. There were small lines around his eyes, and a scar on his upper lip, reaching up to his cheekbone-

_Now is not the time to be thinking about how many scars the man might have,_ she berated herself, choking and stumbling when Romulus showed her an image of the two of them, nude, in her favourite bathing pond back home.

Romulus was laughing at her reaction, and she hoped the others were far enough ahead that they hadn’t seen what he had just shared. She swatted him lightly, but he just continued to laugh.

Leliana finally caught up to them when they came within sight of the heart of the Temple, and they began discussing the best way to deal with the huge Rift there. Lupa was too mesmerized by the Rift to pay attention to the orders Cassandra was issuing to Leliana, getting lost in the way the jagged spikes in the Rift kept shifting, expanding and retracting.

She came back around when Cassandra stepped in front of her, breaking her line of sight. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Lupa wanted to say no, to kick and scream, to demand a nap and a hot meal before she collapsed, but she knew it would get her nowhere. She masked her exhaustion with what she hoped was light humour, nodding toward the Breach in the Sky. “I’m not even sure how to _start_ getting up to that thing.”

“No. This Rift is the first, and it is the key,” Solas was explaining. “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down. And be careful,” Cassandra warned.

Lupa began to pick her way around the rim of the pit that had taken place of the Temple when she heard a strange humming, low and urgent, vibrating through her sternum.

And then they were hearing _voices_.

It was a male voice, low and foreboding; it was coming from everywhere and nowhere, just as Solas’ did when he visited her in the Fade in his other form. Or maybe it was coming from the huge Rift they had their sights on.

That certainly made at least a bit more sense.

“ _Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”_ The voice was cold, calculating, almost dead sounding. There was no emotion behind the words.

Lupa shivered.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, breathless. “That is not Romulus, is it? You said he doesn’t truly speak.”

“No, I do not think it is him,” Solas responded evenly. “At a guess: the person who created the Breach.”

Lupa stayed quiet, but noticed the large red crystals that were lining the wall to her right, breaking right out of the ground like a cancer. The humming and popping noises were louder now, and Romulus was at her right side, pushing her away from the wall, anxiety weaving through his aura.

She didn’t like the tone of Varric’s voice when he spoke up. “You know this is red lyrium, Seeker.” He didn’t make it a question.

“I see it, Varric.”Cassandra’s usual venom when addressing him was gone.

“But what’s it _doing_ here?”

Solas offered an explanation, but to Lupa it sounded like he wasn’t convinced. “Magic could have drawn on magic beneath the Temple, corrupted it…”

“It’s evil,” Varric spat. “Whatever you do, _don’t touch it_.”

Lupa didn’t need to be told twice.

The terrible voice was emanating from the Rift again, and she stopped to listen to it.

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

_“Someone help me!”_

“That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra gasped before Lupa could even register that someone else had spoken. As she leapt down from a broken staircase into the floor of the Temple, she heard her own voice played back to her, her tone shocked and threatening.

_“What’s going on here?!”_

She noticed her Mark reacting to the Rift, a steady green glow pulsing from it.

“And _that_ was your voice,” Cassandra pointed out, though Lupa hardly needed it. “Most Holy called out to you. But…”

She paused when a painfully white flash washed over them, and a faded vision began to play before them. The Divine was suspended magically in front of a figure made of smoke, with red eyes like those of the Dread Wolf; Lupa looked to Solas, but his expression was entirely neutral. Then she saw herself run into the scene, repeating herself.

_“What’s going on here?!”_

_“Run while you can! Warn them!”_ the Divine was definitely Orlesian, and her voice sounded awkward and almost shrill to Lupa’s ears.

The ghostly figure shrouded in smoke was the owner of the terrible, cold, deep voice. _“We have an intruder.”_ Then he turned to point at the apparition of Lupa, extending one long, bony claw toward her. _“Slay the elf.”_

Another bright flash of white light, and the vision was gone. Lupa was blinking slowly, trying to clear her vision, when Cassandra barraged her with another set of desperate questions. “You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…” Her expression turned hard again. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

“I don’t remember,” Lupa forced through a tense jaw. The vision had been just as confusing to her as it had the others.

Solas stepped in, perhaps hoping to diffuse the situation. “Echoes of what happened here,” he stated calmly, as if Lupa hadn’t spoken a word. “The Fade bleeds in to this place.”

When Lupa and Cassandra had turned to approach him, he continued. “The Rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily.” His attention turned squarely to Lupa, expression serious. “I believe that with the Mark, the Rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the Rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra didn’t hesitate. “That means demons,” she called loud enough for her voice to carry to Leliana’s scouts along the perimeter. “Stand ready!”

Lupa took a deep breath to steady herself as she watched everyone preparing for the onslaught to come. Varric gave her an affectionate and steadying backhanded smack to her right forearm, and when she turned to look at him, he nodded gravely at her. _You can do this._

Then Cassandra nodded at her that all was ready, and she reached out towards the Rift.

 

*                             *                             *

 

The irony of the situation was not lost on Solas.

Of _course_ it had been a Pride demon to step through the open Rift. Of _course_ it was three times larger than your average Pride.

Of _course_ this would be the case, when it was _his_ orb that had caused the problem in the first place.

Pride. It had been his undoing from the very beginning, and now Pride could possibly kill them all.

How poetic.

Romulus was tearing at the great demon’s ankles, trying to bring it to its knees so it would stop stomping around; Cassandra was taunting it, trying to keep it off of the rest of them; and the one element Lupa had always had an affinity for was doing nothing to it.

Solas continued to slam it with ice, making sure Lupa had a barrier kept up at all times, before worrying about himself and Varric. The dwarf was surprisingly resilient, and Solas worried more for the others than for himself.

He was intrigued when he felt the Fade beginning to shift, and he noticed his Little One connecting with the Rift, maybe hoping to close it and banish the demon back to the Fade. It didn’t quite work the way she may have wanted it to, but the Pride roared in pain and fell helpless to its knees.

Romulus was scrabbling up its back, trying to reach its throat, no doubt; Cassandra slammed it with her shield while it was down, hoping to stun it and gain them more time. Lupa was trying again to interact with the Rift, but it had turned hazy and incorporeal, and she had nothing to anchor herself to, so she settled for throwing fire at the great demon’s feet, holding her ground.

Then the Rift was reacting, bringing Shades through for them to fight, and Romulus instantly launched himself from the Pride demon’s shoulders to help Lupa with the lesser demons. Solas, knowing she was in good hands (or paws, rather), refreshed her barrier and went back to throwing ice at the Pride.

It was a long and gruelling fight. Lupa continued to disrupt the Rift, keeping the demon from gaining too much strength, until a second wave of Shades came through, forcing her to stop to deal with them again.

It was clear that the demon was finally losing steam, and Romulus howled triumphantly when it stumbled again, this time without Lupa manipulating the Rift. Something felt different in the air, now, and Solas turned to give Lupa an encouraging nod.

She stretched out again, and this time, the Rift began to close, drawing the great Pride demon back into the Abyss, back across the Veil. They heard it roar its defiance right before it slammed shut, echoing through the valley.

This time Solas didn’t hesitate, shouldering his staff and running to sweep her up in a triumphant embrace. His Little One had done it, the Rift was closed, she had survived-

Except she was collapsing against him, no more than a ragdoll in his arms, and when he looked up, the Breach was still swirling in the sky. He closed his eyes and stretched out, poking, prodding, searching, and he determined that the Breach had not been closed, but it _had_ been stabilized.

He hadn’t realized that he had sunk to the ground, holding her tightly, until Cassandra had placed a hand on his shoulder and told him they needed to check and see if she was actually still alive. He had placed her down gently, and Romulus had cried again, sad and mournful, making Solas’ heart stop.

There was a tense few moments while Cassandra worked on her, and Solas couldn’t take his eyes off his Little One’s face. He had gone entirely numb, unaware of anything outside of the sight of the Seeker and the little elf he cared for. She was still so young, had seen so much, and yet so little, he couldn’t lose her now-

And then Cassandra was breathing a sigh of relief, and the sights and sounds and bodily sensations of the world came rushing back over him. Solas was breathing again; he hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath. Healing magic was at the tips of his fingers, but it wasn’t enough to bring her around.

Romulus confirmed that she felt more stable, and suggested laying her across his back to take her back to Haven. Solas agreed; Romulus was much stronger than them, and would be able to travel more quickly with her.

They bound her wrists and ankles loosely, not because she had done anything wrong, but to keep her hands and feet from dragging on the ground.

They must have been a strange sight on the way back, the hedge mage and the giant wolf, with an unconscious apostate sung over the beast’s back, but the trip took record time. Solas had stayed with Romulus, allowing Cassandra to head back ahead of them to discuss what had happened with the others.

“Don’t worry about me, Chuckles,” Varric had said before departing. “My short little legs will just slow you down, and Bianca and I can handle ourselves well enough. Just make sure she makes it, alright? Wolfy owes me a strong drink and a story.” He had tried to joke, but there had been genuine concern in every line of his face.

So it was just Solas and Romulus, and neither of them were happy with the outcome of the day. Romulus wondered if she would have stayed conscious if Cassandra had thought to feed her.

“Most likely, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

The rest of their journey was spent in silence, and when they returned to Haven, a terrified elf directed the three of them to an empty cottage just inside the gates. Solas thanked the girl and removed his Little One from Romulus’ back, removing the ties from her wrists and ankles and pulling the pins from her hair so she could lay back comfortably. He brushed a few stray locks from her face, eyes catching the streaks of blue and purple on the left side of her head. He still didn’t know how she’d managed to permanently change the colour of a portion of her hair, but smiled at the memory of the sheepish look on her face when she confessed she had tried and failed to change it back.

_“Besides, I… quite like it.”_

_“Whatever pleases you, Little One,” he had laughed. “If you wish it back the way it was, I’m sure I could fix it for you.”_

His concentration was broken when the apothecary, Adan, entered the room. Solas gave the man all the information he needed, and told him to send Romulus to fetch him should he need a mage for anything.

Then he took one last long look at her before turning and walking out of her cottage.

 

*                             *                             *

 

She was unconscious, again.

At least the Fade had decided to be quiet this time.

It was peaceful, but after a short time, she admitted it was a little dull; at least last time, the memories had helped her pass the time.

She wasn’t sure how long it took, but finally a memory surfaced for her, and she settled in to watch, curious about which one she was being shown this time.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_She had promised Owain that she would make up her blunder to him, but when she finally managed to rise from her bedroll the next morning, he had already left on a trading trip for Starkhaven._

_It had taken the traders a week to come back, and Lupa had worked herself into a frenzy waiting for him. It was a much longer trip than usual for the traders; she could hardly imagine what was keeping them. Every time she so much as thought his name, her skin would feel like it was on fire, a deep ache would start in her core, and it took all her self-control not to give in before he came home._

_It was late when they returned, and she had long finished her dinner. Her father was telling her about a new staff he was constructing for her when he spotted the traders approaching from over her shoulder. He had laughed and told her to go to him, a knowing look in his eye._

_And go she did; she sprinted through the camp, jumping over small fires and other small obstacles until she slammed into him, driving them flat against the trunk of a nearby tree._

_“I’ve missed you, vhenan,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear, and she felt the heat, the deep ache in her core spinning out of control, coiling, weaving  itself tightly in anticipation._

_When she responded, it was throaty, almost hoarse, and his eyes went dark. “I’ve missed you, too.”_

_He straightened them up, one hand trailing down her spine, making her shiver. “We had dinner on the road, but I think a bath is in order.”_

_She didn’t miss the invitation in his words, but didn’t trust herself to speak, instead taking his hand and leading him around the edge of the camp, away from the harsh lights of the fires._

_The rest of the Clan didn’t need to know what they were up to, but she thought they might before the night was over._

_When they reached the pond, it was thankfully empty. They had bathed together plenty of times before, but this felt decidedly different. In the past, they had been two elves splashing each other chastely while they cleaned away the dirt of the day._

_Tonight, they would be lovers._

_Owain had stopped her short of the shoreline, turning her around to look at him. There was a nervousness on his features, and she wondered aloud what was wrong._

_“Nothing is wrong. But…” he sighed. It was a frustrated sound, and she frowned a little. “I had thought all of this through, and now it all sounds so silly, even if it’s all true.”_

_She watched as he reached into his pocket and brought out two small boxes wrapped in velvet. “This is the reason we got kept in Starkhaven. I know you adore shemlen craftsmanship, and your father would never have been able to keep his mouth shut about it if I asked him to do it.” Owain chuckled nervously at that, and she smiled warmly._

_“So what is it, then?” she asked boldly._

_Owain swallowed thickly, anxiously, and opened the boxes for her._

_It was clear which one was hers, but she wished she could admire them with better lighting. As it was, she could barely make out leaves and branches styled into an intricate weave, coming together in a knot in the middle, with three triangular petals like a white trillium, with a ring of yellow beneath the petals and a purple core._

_“I have been waiting for this moment for far longer than I should admit,” Owain was confessing, voice low and full of emotions she couldn’t name. “I want to stand by your side until Falon’Din claims us, until our bones return to the earth; in this life and the next. Wherever it takes us.” He looked at her almost fearfully, as if she would reject his offer, as if she wasn’t entirely overcome in this moment by his dedication, by his confession, by_ him.

_“Wherever it takes us,” she choked joyfully when she finally found her voice again, not bothering to hide the tears on her face, and then the both of them were crying, laughing, clinging desperately and spinning around each other._

_They came down after a few moments, foreheads pressed together, and Owain handed her the box with his ring in it. She removed it from the box, admiring how strong it felt in her hands, just like he felt strong in her embrace. She stretched out her left hand to him, and his to her, and they slipped each others’ rings onto the fourth finger._

_He was hers._

_Well, not quite._

_She snaked their fingers together and pulled him down to kiss him._

_It was sweet at first, soft, reverent, innocent as they stood with their lipped pressed together lightly by the shore of the pond. But one of Owain’s hands had disentangled itself from hers and was pressing her closer against the small of her back. Hers traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and behind his head, before she freed her second hand and placed it lightly on his lean chest._

_Then their kiss became hungry, desperate, frantic as their breaths came shorter and their lips parted, both seeking entrance to the other, tongues tangling in a never-ending tango as Owain’s second free hand scratched desperately at her shoulder._

_After what seemed like forever, she broke away, gasping for breath; if she went on a second longer, she was sure she was going to burst out of her scorching hot skin. She needed the cool water of the pond to bring her down a bit._

_Owain seemed to have the same idea, stripping down at record speed and gracefully wading in to his waist before turning back to look at her. She wished she could have seen him, but she admired what view she had; he may have been a trader, but he kept himself in good health, and it showed._

_She took her time undressing, giving him a bit of a show. If it hadn’t been so dark, she was sure she would have seen his pupils dilating at the sight of her, suddenly no so chaste anymore. When she finally got rid of all her clothing, she pulled the pins from her hair, letting it spill across her shoulders in a cascade, wavy from the tight bun she preferred to keep it in, before slowly, serenely, wading in to meet him._

_“Lupa”, he said when she reached him, his voice raw. She reached out to him under the water, hands finding the grooves of his hips, and he did the same with her. His grip tightened on her suddenly, and he seemed to want to put some distance between them._

_“What’s wrong?” she asked softly._

_“I’m afraid to hurt you,” he replied honestly, voice still an octave deeper than usual._

_“I need this, Owain. For so many reasons, but also so I can put the past behind me. I’m tired of letting it get the better of me. I refuse to let it haunt me any longer.”_

_And then his mouth was on hers again, and the cool water was not helping as much as she hoped, because he could feel_ him _against her, hard and hot, and she really knew that he had been as desperate for her while he was away as she had been for him._

_His hands had left her hips and were travelling up to her waist, her ribs, curling around the front of her so he could cup her breasts. They were not large by many standards, but he growled into her mouth when he reached them, and she felt her knees tremble as the sound travelled through her. His hands were a little rough, and the scratch of them against her sensitive skin had her breath hitching in her chest._

_Then his mouth was at her jaw, nipping her lightly before lightly kissing the pain away. He carved a path down her throat like that, her head thrown back, a moan escaping from her as his tongue found her pulse, then continued on lower, to the wing of her collarbone, and lower still, until one hand was gone from her chest and he replaced it with his lips._

_“_ Oh!” _she had cried, a little louder than she had thought she would, her nails digging into Owain’s skin where her hands were still glues to his hips. His free hand had found the curve of her waist, and he was nipping at her now, using his hand to roll her other nipple so it wouldn’t be ignored, and then he sucked on it, hard._

_She cried out again, and she was shaking, her carefully coiled desire starting to unravel around the edges. She wondered at what it would take for it to come undone entirely, if this was all it took, but now she desperately needed to be_ out _of the water, on flat, dry land so they could find each other properly._

_Owain, once again, seemed to be on the same page as her. He released her, standing up straight, and lifting her close to him, so she had to wrap her legs around his waist._

_He linked his arms behind her back and walked them out of the pond like that. It was absolutely_ torturous _; she could feel him, so close, and Creators, she needed him more in that moment than anything she had ever known._

_“Owain,” she begged, her voice breaking, wiggling to try to fit the two of them together._

_“Not yet, vhenan,” he commanded her, and she stopped her struggling. She could feel his heart racing against her chest. “I’m not done with you. When tonight is through, you’ll know what it’s_ really _like.”_

_She wasn’t sure where he had learned all of this, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She knew it wasn’t another of the Clan; maybe some of the more senior traders had set him up with someone at a brothel in one of the cities?_

_She didn’t know why she was thinking of it. It didn’t matter to her. Now he was hers._

_Later, she would wonder how a clean bedroll had found its way to the shore of the pond, but she never found an answer. In the moment, she barely registered that it wasn’t simply hard dirt and pine needles under her back._

_He placed her down far more gently than she expected, and she unwrapped her legs from his waist. They looked at each other in the moonlight; what scarce clouds there had been before were gone, and now they were under a spectacular full moon. She still had a hard time getting a good look at him, but as he held himself above her, drinking in the sight of her flushed skin and swollen lips, her hair fanned out behind her, she followed the hard line of his chest down, breath hitching when she caught sight of him._

_When Dane had come to her, she hadn’t seen any of him; she had kept her eyes shut tight, trying to remove herself from what was happening. But she remembered the feel of him, sinewy and uncomfortable, like an old dead branch knotted and scarred. She may not have truly felt Owain, yet, but she knew he would feel_ much _better than the hunter had just by the sight of him._

_When she looked back up at his face, she saw he had been watching her, and there was concern in his eyes._

_“Owain,” she said firmly, “if you do not continue this insta-oh!”_

_He had resumed where he had left off, kissing her jaw, down her neck, between her breasts, and she squirmed as he reached her stomach. He stopped again to look up at her, and she groaned defeatedly when he stopped, prompting him to continue. She looked down at him; he had sat back on his knees, his hands dragging down her sides with a light rasp of his nails, and then he was kissing the top of her hip, the inside of her thigh, next to the crease in her legs._

_She shivered in anticipation again, whimpering pathetically when his mouth left her skin and didn’t return; but he was spreading her wide, and she instinctively tried to close herself off._

_He was sitting up again, “Ir abelas,” he told her, and she breathed a heavy sigh._

_“Instinct, vhenan,” she said, before opening up for him again._

_His mouth was on the inside of her thigh again, and then-_

_The moan that left her was primal, coming deep from her chest, when she felt the first hot swipe of his tongue._

_He was looking up at her, tasting her again, and she was unravelling quickly now, but he kept his pace slow, controlled, keeping her from tipping too quickly over the edge._

_She threw her head back again and reached down to grab at his hair. His hands were on the insides of her thighs, keeping her spread wide, stronger than her leg muscles which were trying to clench tightly around his head._

_She cried out loudly again when one of those hands moved away and one of his lightly calloused fingers found her core._

_It did not take long then; she felt something shift in her, like a thread in the carefully woven desire behind her navel had been severed, and now the entire thing was coming undone, just as she was, whether she was ready for it or not._

_The cry that left her was almost a howl, so loud she was sure the entire camp heard her; she was tense, so tense, her back arching off the ground, her grip in Owain’s hair so strong she was sure she was hurting him, but she couldn’t seem to let it go. He was still tasting her, slowly, softly, helping her ride through her orgasm as long as she possibly could._

_It seemed to go on forever, but when she finally relaxed and sank back into the bedroll, she was breathing heavily, desperate for another. Owain was sitting back again, wiping his face dry on the back of his arm before bringing their lips together again._

_She could taste herself on him, and it sent her desire weaving tightly behind her belly button again. She managed to flip their positions, somehow, so that she was straddling him, and she wondered what_ he _would taste like-_

_He stopped her when he realized what she was doing. “Not tonight, Lupa.” The way her name fell from his tongue made her skin hot all over again._

_“Why not?” she asked teasingly. “I want to.”_

_“I promised that tonight would be about you. We can try another time.”_

_She let him have his way, moving back up to straddling his hips again. “Besides,” he continued, voice raw again, “I’m too desperate for_ you _to even consider it.”_

_She growled, and then she was sitting back, and he was-_

_“Oh, Gods, Owain-”_

_His eyes were wide and his mouth slightly parted as she took him in, stretching to accommodate him, and she couldn’t look away from him, from the way his eyes were burning into hers. There was some resistance, and she adjusted the angle she was sitting at to break it; when she finally did, they groaned in unison._

_She sat back, resting on her knees, hands splayed on his stomach, not moving for a moment. She could see him taking in the sight of her straddling him, the feeling of finally,_ finally _, having him all to herself almost too much. He seemed a perfect fit; she was full, but not hurting, and when she rolled her hips forward the first time, he hissed and struggled to keep his eyes open, bucking up against her, forcing her into moving again without meaning to, and she set a pace. It was slow but frantic, romantic but hungry, and she was almost a little overwhelmed by it all; his hands were tracing the lines of her vallaslin where he could reach them, sometimes no more than a light tickle, sometimes with nails digging as she found a sweet spot. She had been right, he felt so_ good _, she couldn’t get over it, and it seemed like no time at all before the thread was cut in her weaving desire and it was crumbling apart again. She was howling her pleasure, pitching forward and barely able to keep herself moving, entirely frozen by the force of it this time, and Owain once again kept her going, but she knew he couldn’t be far behind; his breath was coming in so short, his heart racing, his pace becoming desperate as he felt her go tight around him._

_When he felt her starting to relax, he brought a hand between them and found her sweet spot, the one he had already memorized and tasted, and she clenched again, eyes going wide._

_He was looking at her as she continued to ride it out, but the sight of her was what pushed him over the edge; he had been mostly quiet before, but now he was becoming wildly vocal, and he called her name, over and over like a prayer, as she felt him go rigid and spill himself in her._

_She was entirely spent now, shaking from the exertion, and the night seemed almost too quiet in the aftermath. Owain had his hands on the back of her shoulders, drawing her down to lay her weight on top of him. She obliged, burying her nose into the crook of his neck for a moment before lifting her chin to meet his eyes, leaning in for another kiss._

_Their tongues were dancing again, but this time it was slow and languid, showing the depth of their appreciation rather than the burn of their desire. When they broke apart again, she rolled off him stiffly, and she laughed at how difficult it was to bring her thighs back together._

_Owain pulled her close, one arm cradling her neck, his hand stroking her hair, and she draped herself over him lightly again, already feeling the first gentle caresses of sleep claiming her, when his free hand found her chin so he could look at her again._

_She obliged, mesmerized by everything she could see swirling behind his storm greys._

_“Ar lath, ma vhenan,” he whispered to her quietly._

_Her heart stopped at his words, but she was too exhausted for tears to start falling again. She had imagined for years how those words would sound on his tongue, but the reality was far more beautiful than she could ever have dreamed up._

_She was quiet a moment, allowing it to sink in, but there was no hesitation from her._

_“Ar lath,” she whispered back sleepily, and then their breathing slowed as they drifted to sleep together._

_When she finally woke in the morning, the sun was high in the sky and Owain was already gone. She found her clothes hanging on a nearby branch; he must have washed them for her in the pond and put them out to dry._

_Her heart felt full to bursting, and she looked to admire the colours in the ring he had gifted her: rich orange-brown topaz for the branches woven together, a blend of emeralds and peridots for the leaves scattered throughout, the petals of the trillium sprinkled with clear diamonds, the centre of the flower full of dark purple tourmalines, and a ring of yellow citrines supporting the petals from underneath. For all the detail in it, it was surprisingly delicate._

_She decided a morning bath was in order as she worked her magic to ensure they had no unexpected surprises before they were ready for them; it was a common enough ministration among the Dalish, as the Clan’s adults were known to be firm believers in free love._

_When she had dried and dressed again, she realized she didn’t know where her hair pins were, and had to leave it down as she made her way through the camp to the Keeper. Romulus was waiting patiently for her at the edge of the clearing, and as they passed through the camp, she couldn’t help but notice the knowing glances and quiet chuckles that followed her passage._

_Owain was with the other traders, sorting through the previous day’s stock, and looked up to catch her eye as she passed. He smiled warmly at her, and she winked at him as she continued on her way._

_It was not the first time the entire Clan had been kept awake by a passionate coupling._

_And if she had anything to say about it, it would not be the last._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a difficult time trying to decide where to end this chapter, because there was an irresistible moment with Cullen to write. It did get written, but it'll likely end up opening the next chapter. 
> 
> I've also never written smut before, so this was a huge learning experience. I wanted to get some practice in before I got to Cullen later, because I want his to be absolutely, heart-breakingly perfect. 
> 
> Thanks again for the read! I should have more soon.


	5. Cross'd My Heart With Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple more Lupa/Cullen interactions. Lots of embarrassment and a little UST. Enjoy!

Cullen was trying to convince himself that he was visiting her because he wanted to check on her well-being, just like he did with any of his soldiers.

He wasn’t doing a very good job.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was far more worried about Capitoline than he was the rest of his men, and he couldn’t even say _why_. Every time she skittered across his mind his chest went tight and his concentration would go scattering to the wind. He wouldn’t mind so much if it only happened once or twice a day, but it was happening _many_ times a day; just when he brought himself back to reality, just when he would bring his self-discipline to bear and get himself back in control, it would happen again.

So he was on his way to her little cottage, trying with every step to turn around, to change his course to reach the Chantry, the tavern, _anywhere_ but the destination he couldn’t seem to get out of his sights.

_This is ridiculous._ He was acting like an infatuated teenager. He was a grown man, he was too _old_ to be acting like an infatuated teenager. 

It was after dinner, and everyone in Haven was winding down for the day. She had been out cold now for more than 24 hours, and many people had come to check on her, almost taking it in shifts to sit by her bedside, hoping for a sign that she might be coming around.

He wondered how much longer it would take.

Cullen turned the corner just inside the village gates, her little hut coming into view. He was taking his time reaching it, and noticed as he got closer that the door was open a crack. Maybe Adan had come to check on her, or maybe someone else was in with her, he should just turn around, she wouldn’t like him bothering her anyway-

Her monstrous wolf was pushing its way through the open door, sitting to wait on the front step. Cullen wished its eyes were a different colour; every time he saw the beast, his head would pound, his throat would go dry, and his hands would start to shake.

It was one extreme or the other; he just couldn’t win, could he?

He reached up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly as he came to stop at the foot of the steps leading to the door, doing his best not to break eye contact with the wolf sitting calmly in front of him. He had been told the wolf was highly intelligent and could communicate, so he cleared his throat and asked, “Can I… um… Can I go in?”

The wolf coughed; he had been warned, apparently this was how it laughed, and then Cullen went stiff when he began to see the visions dance before his eyes. He hadn’t expected it to actually respond, and it took him off guard. He was seeing two bowls of water: first he was dipping a cloth in one on the table and dabbing Capitoline’s mouth with it lightly; and then he was checking her temperature with the back of his hand, bending down to dip a cloth into the bowl on the floor and pressing it to her forehead.

“Right, table’s drinking water, floor’s cooling water?” Cullen summarized when his vision fully cleared.

The wolf was standing, now, tail swishing slowly back and forth, head dipping low in what Cullen could only assume was a nod. Then the great beast was brushing past him towards the gate, and Cullen stepped into the cottage and closed the door before more of the heat from the fire could escape.

He turned to look at her, and his heart started to pound loudly. She looked so vulnerable and small in such a large bed, and his protective instinct was strong; it made him reach out to make sure her covers were pulled up tight, her head resting comfortably on a pillow, before doing as the wolf had shown and checking her temperature.

She was neither hot nor cold, which was a good sign, so he reached over and dipped a cloth into the water bowl on the table to wet her lips for her.

It was the first time he had noticed the blue and purple in her hair; he must have missed it when he was talking to her at the Rift because of the angle he was looking her from.

They were blended together in a large chunk on the left side of her head, and he wondered how she had managed to make her hair such an unnatural colour; he was sure it was magical, perhaps an accident; or maybe she had done it on purpose? He didn’t know her well, but it seemed the kind of thing she might do.

He became distracted by a short hair that had slipped down over her brow. _Must have knocked it loose when I was checking her temperature_ , he thought, and reached up to gingerly brush it out of her eyes.

It was then that he noticed her skin starting to flush, making the copper gold lines of her tattoos stand out, her breathing becoming short and ragged. He frowned, reaching for the cloth in the cooling bowl at his feet, when she started to whimper.

_Maker,_ Cullen thought, _what is going on?_

He had helped nurse a good number of people back to health, but he had never seen anything like this. He resigned himself to touching the cloth of cool water to her forehead, her cheeks, behind her long pointed ears, until her whimpering became a full-throated moan that set his blood on fire.

Her back was arching off the bed now, she was thrashing, and he could see her hands balled into fists under the layers of blankets, toes curling-

And then she was relaxing back down, breathing quickly but deeply, her skin still flushed, and Cullen was still as a statue as he tried to gain some control over himself.

He had no idea what had just happened (well, he _did_ , he would just rather not think about it); he decided to wait and see if it would happen again before he went to get Adan.

Cullen finally managed to regain some of his composure, and realized he had been neglecting to cool her off; her skin was still flushed and she started whimpering again a few minutes later.

She was reaching a fever pitch again when the door opened and Varric stepped into her cottage.

Cullen didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life: the chair he had been sitting in had fallen over loudly in his attempt to put some space between himself and the moaning elf, the blood draining from both his face and his brain as he tried to coherently explain that he hadn’t done anything, that he had no idea what was going on over the sounds of her moaning deep in her chest.

Her back arched again and she cried out loudly, she was trembling this time, but frozen, he wondered if she wouldn't hurt her back-

And then she was easing back into the mattress again, the flush already leaving her skin, her breathing deep and slow again, and there was a moment of silence that seemed to ring louder than the carnal sounds she had just let loose.

Cullen looked at the dwarf, who had suddenly doubled over laughing. The little man was in hysterics, smacking the side of his knee, and it took him several long minutes to regain his composure.

Varric was wiping tears from his eyes when he righted himself, still chuckling heartily. “What’s the matter, Curly? Never seen a lady in the throes of passion before?”

Cullen took a few deep breaths to try to gain some control over himself again. His blood was refusing to return to his brain as quickly as he would like. “What?” he asked in disbelief.

“Everyone orgasms in their sleep at least once in their life, Curly. I’m more concerned that she didn’t wake up from it.” Varric was eyeing him mischievously. “You want to go grab the apothecary and Solas, or do you want me to do it?”

Cullen sighed defeatedly. “Doesn’t matter, really. Everyone’s still going to think I tried to take advantage of the poor girl.”

“Curly, if there was ever one man I would believe when he says _‘I didn’t do it’_ , it’s you.” The dwarf was righting the chair Cullen had knocked over and jumped up into it, cooling cloth in hand. “You go get the apothecary, then. Tell him I… waved you over and asked you to go fetch him because Romulus is out hunting or something. How many times did this happen?”

“Twice,” Cullen confirmed, feeling the heat (finally) creeping back into his face.

“Lucky you,” Varric replied with a raised brow and a sly grin. “Maybe it’ll make the nightmares a little easier on you, now you’ve got something a little more pleasant to dream about.”

Cullen choked at that. _How could the dwarf possibly know-_ She wasn’t gracing his nightmares before, but now…

He stood dumbfounded for a moment before turning on his heel and _fleeing_ the little cottage, the sound of Varric cackling behind him ringing in his ears.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa finally woke on the third morning after their return from the Temple.

The sound of something being dropped loudly was what drew her out of her state of half-sleep, and she sat up to see a tiny little elf girl shuddering under the gaze of Romulus, who must have startled her.

Lupa was still hazy, and was confused when the petrified elf in front of her prostrated herself, pressing her forehead to the floor, muttering such nonsense as “Your Worship,” “Herald of Andraste,” and “saved us all.”

She had gathered from the girl that Cassandra would want to see her in the Chantry as soon as she was able, and then Lupa was alone with Romulus in her cottage, the elf having stumbled out and slammed the door shut behind her.

Romulus picked himself up from his place in front of the fire and stepped lightly onto the bed Lupa was laying in, spreading himself out next to her so she could roll over and throw an arm across his chest.

_How long was I out?_

He showed her a calendar, three days crossed off on it.

She didn’t say anything, and they lay there in silence for a few moments until Romulus started to laugh.

_What’s so funny, Mister?_

When Cullen had come to visit her, Romulus had not gone far; his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he decided to hunker down to see what Cullen was up to with her. He showed her the whole encounter as he had seen it, the air thick with her scent and Cullen’s arousal, and Lupa sat straight up again in horror.

_No, there’s no way… how could that even happen?!_

_Another naughty dream, perhaps?_ Romulus replied, in his way.

She shoved him, trying to get out of bed, and he slowly obliged. She wanted nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow her whole, and Creators, she’d likely have to face him before the end of the day, and would she ever be able to meet his eyes again?

She spotted the tub in the far corner, full of water, just waiting for her. She raised an eyebrow at Romulus, and she saw Adan ordering it brought in late last night, believing she would be waking soon.

She heated it with a fire rune until it was almost too hot to handle and sank in to it up to her chin, knees turned sideways to keep them under the water.

Romulus asked her what she had seen to prompt such a strong physical reaction in her sleep, and Owain’s face was floating in front of her eyes again. Romulus’ sadness swept over her, and he remembered meeting her at the edge of the camp as she approached from the pond questioningly. Perhaps he didn’t know which night in particular she had been reliving, but they frequently went out by whatever pond the Clan had set up next to.

When she didn’t respond, he padded over and nipped her ear, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She soaked for a few more minutes, steeling herself; she couldn’t put off meeting Cassandra or the others forever. She noted a small pile of clean clothes piled neatly on a chair at the foot of her bed, and stepped out of the still warm water to stand in front of the fire.

When she was dry, she approached the pile of clothing staring at her from across the room, picking through it; most of the clothing was of shemlen design, but she found something more comfortably elven at the bottom of the pile, next to-

She picked up the tiny pieces of clothing cautiously, not sure what they were or what they were for. Romulus showed her an image of a shemlen woman and how she would wear them to give her an idea.

She had heard the shemlen wore clothes under their clothes, but she never actually thought they did. Turned out she was wrong.

She was also more than a little curious.

They were surprisingly comfortable, these shemlen things she was wearing, and she noticed a tall looking glass hiding in the corner behind her tub, stepping over to get a good look at herself in it.

She whistled, low, taking in the sight of herself in the looking glass. The thing that held her breasts up was covered in soft black lace, and it was definitely doing a good job, giving her far more volume than she naturally possessed; the piece she had pulled up to cover her core matched the top, resting high on her hips, accentuating the swell of them. She had always loved their curve, joking frequently that what she lacked in upper body bulk, she easily made up for in her lower.

She remembered the way Owain would tell her just how much he loved them, too, and shivered when she felt the ghost of a finger tracing the line of her hip.

She turned her back on the looking glass then, returning to the rest of the outfit she had chosen, picking up her pants from the bed and wiggling in to them before reaching for her shirt.

When everything was securely in place, she checked herself one last time in the looking glass: she smoothed her hair with a small flare of her magic, but decided to leave it loose. Her shirt and pants were on properly, and she didn’t look like a fool, so she smiled at Romulus and reached for the door of her cottage, taking one last deep breath before crossing the threshold into the cold snow and setting her sights on the Chantry.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus heard the people in the town gossiping about his Wolf Sister, but had determined in the three days that she was unconscious that it was all harmless. He wondered briefly if all the whispers that were following her were getting to her at all.

He would check later. Right now, he was concentrating on sorting through the barrage of scents that came along with this town.

The Clan had been small, even by Dalish terms: only 40 or 50 people, and that was including all the children. It had taken almost no time at all to map everyone’s individual scents and figure out which of the environmental smells were good or bad.

Here… there were enough people for at least 10 of her Clans, and if canines could get headaches, Romulus was sure he would have a bad one.

Reaching the Building of Prayer did not take his Wolf Sister long, and he felt her relaxing by his side as the large doors closed behind them and cut off the whispering of the Children of Worship outside. She put a hand on his head lightly, before continuing toward the back of the long room, taking in the grandeur of shemlen worship.

She stopped hard when a raised voice emanated from the room at the very far end of the Chantry. Romulus could make out the voices of the Bitter One and the Walking Storm; they were arguing, likely over his Lupa. Her hand twisted into his fur and he looked up at her to see she had gone pale.

He leaned against her lightly, and she nodded, taking a deep breath and closing the distance in a few short strides. Romulus noted two armed guards on either side of the door, the smell of lyrium strong in his nose.

The argument was cut short when she opened the door. She stepped in, and he followed, noting that the Templars had turned in to block off the doorway behind them.

The Bitter One was still trying to have her executed, Romulus heard, but the Walking Storm dismissed the Templars before Romulus could even react to the words. Lupa’s hand was back on his head, lightly restraining him from doing anything against the stupid man in the silly hat, but she was voicing concern that she was still considered a captive.

They were arguing again, on whether or not his Lupa was guilty, the Walking Storm claiming she had been sent to them by one they call ‘the Maker’; his Wolf Sister was confused, reminding them she claimed no such thing, until the Crow Mother stepped out of the shadows to put the Bitter One in his place. She was implying that the man in front of her was a suspect, now, and Romulus began to laugh at the man’s reaction to the words. He stank of rage, and when Romulus called attention to himself by laughing, he was happy to smell the fear that coloured the man as well.

He had not seen the Walking Storm move away from them, but now she was back, placing herself between the Crow Mother and the Bitter One, slamming a heavy tome onto the table in front of them.

“You know what this is, Chancellor. A writ from Divine Justinia, granting us the authority to act.” She was pointing to the book she had just retrieved, and she smelled like raw power. She had clearly had enough, and was putting her foot down.

Romulus decided he quite liked this woman.

She was continuing, staring the man down as she gave her orders, backing him away from the table and into a corner. If the Bitter One smelled fearful before, Romulus didn’t know what to call it now. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

And then the Bitter One was leaving, slowly, smelling still of fear, and defeat. Romulus did not like the man, but had to admit that he had good self-control, to keep himself from fleeing the room outright.

Then the Crow Mother was explaining it to his Wolf Sister, what they had been called to do, and the Walking Storm was coming around the end of the table, extending her hand to his Lupa, asking for her help, asking her to join them.

He could tell his Wolf Sister was still trying to catch up, so he grinned, sat beside her, and raised a paw into the Storm’s waiting hand.

He didn’t think the woman could laugh, but she did, giving his paw a firm shake before reaching out to ruffle the fur on his head. He leaned into it, enjoying it, until she lifted her hand away a moment later.

He may need to rethink her name.

His Wolf Sister was nodding, smiling warmly, finally caught up, and extended her hand towards the Walking Storm. They shook.

“Just promise me you won’t scratch behind _my_ ears.”

The Walking Storm was laughing again. “I’m not quite sure what possessed me to do it, honestly, but I’m glad you allowed it, Romulus. I fear I wouldn’t have a hand otherwise.”

He sent reassurance her way, and then asked about food. His Wolf Sister hadn’t eaten in… a week?

“We will take care of this.” It was the Crow Mother who spoke, gesturing towards the heavy tome on the table. “There is a tavern down the way, I’m sure Varric will show you if you ask. They usually have some food available between meal times. Grab what you can there; you will know when lunch is signalled, but it still won’t be for a few hours.” She took a small leather satchel and handed it to his Wolf Sister. He heard the clanking of coin inside as it passed hands.

“Ma sera- Thank you,” his Lupa corrected, and then they were out the door, leaving the Chantry, their sights set first for the Wolf Father.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa had wanted to see Solas before she ate, but the moment he saw her, he grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and lightly shoved her back in the direction of the tavern.

“We can talk later. I promised you food, and you are going to get food. Go.”

So she was slipping in the door to the tavern, trying to stay inconspicuous; Romulus had complained about the smell and headed off to clear his nose somewhere, and she still knew almost no one. Spotting an empty seat right at the bar, she made a beeline for it, tripping over her own feet in her haste.

_There’s a first impression for them. The one they call Herald, almost falling flat on her face, tripping over nothing._

When she finally made it, she sank into the high bar stool, turning herself around to get a good look at the place. It was a simple log cabin, full to bursting with anyone and everyone, pilgrims and workers and soldiers alike. There was a bard playing softly off to Lupa’s left, and a roaring fire in the hearth in the centre of the back wall.

It really was a warm and inviting place.

She was just turning back around in her seat when a familiar voice sounded, making her stomach drop.

“Capitoline! I mean, um, Herald… Sorry.”

She was staring straight into the Commander’s warm honey browns, and she could feel the blood draining from her face, her own eyes going wide in shock. She had been hoping to avoid him, and here he was, sitting right next to her at the bar.

She would have spotted him right away if he had been in his armour, but he wasn’t wearing it; instead, he had opted for a heavy wool vest over a white cotton shirt, his usual leather pants and boots (which she wouldn’t have seen, and looked common enough anyway), curls being tamed back into place by bare hands.

“Commander!” she finally managed to choke out. “What are you doing here?”

He wouldn’t stop looking at her, through her, and she barely managed to turn away from him before all the blood returned to her face in a rush. “I don’t have any appointments until this afternoon, so I decided to take a break with my men,” he explained casually. “How are you feeling? When did you wake up? I- We were all so worried for you.”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and there was so much concern written in every line of his face that the words were bubbling up her throat and out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Oh, Creators, this is so awkward. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, but I feel so embarrassed, I don’t even know your _name_ , what a thing to happen-”

“Well, according to Varric, it happens to everyone at least once in their life,” he was reassuring her, one of his eyebrows raised high. “And I suppose we haven’t been properly introduced yet, have we? My name is Cullen.”

He was stretching his hand out to her, just as Cassandra had before, and she eyed it hesitantly before reaching out to grasp it in a shake. His was heavily calloused and rough to the touch, dwarfing her own easily, but incredibly warm, and her heart was racing at the touch.

He didn’t let her go when they were done, instead flipping her hand so that her palm was facing the floor. He admired her rings for a moment before releasing her hand suddenly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Her fingers felt surprisingly cold at the absence.

He cleared his throat lightly. “Those are lovely. The detail is incredible. Did someone in your Clan make them?”

Lupa found herself smiling sadly. “No, it’s shemlen. From some jeweller in Starkhaven.”

He nodded, content to let it lie for now, and she saw him wave over the barkeep. “Thirsty?” he asked her.

“Literally starving,” she replied, and his eyes went wide.

“Maker’s breath, of course you are. There’s not much here, but we’ll make sure you get something to tide you over until lunchtime.”

When the barkeep finally made it over to them, Cullen ordered something for her. She had no idea what he had asked for, because she was distracted by the way the scar on his lip moved while he talked. She could feel her pulse quickening again, and thought how foolish her reaction was to such a little thing, but there was no helping it: suddenly she was thinking about tracing it with her finger, then her tongue; how many other scars did he have that she could trace for him? She could almost heel him shuddering at her touch-

He turned to asked her something, and she went red again; of course he would catch her staring.

“Er… ir abelas, could you say that again?”

The barkeep was the one addressing her. “What do you want to drink? We have lots of wine, both red and white, ale, stout, mead-”

Lupa cut the poor woman off before she had to give the full listing. “Um, mead would be nice, I think, but I’ve never had shemlen brewed mead before.”

The barkeep smiled at her. “I remember having elven brewed, once, and the elven was decidedly stronger. I think you’ll be able to stomach it, but I’ll wait to bring it with your food. Shouldn’t be too long,” she reassured them with another smile and disappeared back into the crowd.

They were both quiet for a moment, Lupa staring at her hands linked on the bartop in front of her.

Cullen broke their silence. “So you’re from the Marches, then?” he was asking her. “I was there for quite a while myself. Did you ever camp near Kirkwall?”

“No, we had a pretty small circular camping circuit, staying close to Wycome and Starkhaven. They trusted our traders, so we knew we were safest close to there. What news we were getting out of Kirkwall didn’t sit well with our Keeper, and Ostwick is far too pious and prejudiced for us to trade fairly there.”

She saw him nodding at her out of the corner of her eye. “Yes, that sounds about right. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to get out of Kirkwall.”

Lupa chuckled darkly. “From what we heard, I don’t blame you.” She registered again just how little he was wearing considering the weather. “You weren’t raised in Kirkwall, were you? You seem too comfortable with the cold to be a born-and-bred Marcher.”

“Very observant,” he confirmed. “I’m Fereldan. Born and raised in a small town south of here.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but Lupa reached out and pinched his thin cotton shirt between a thumb and finger, pulling on it until it slipped out of her grasp. “You’d have to be, to think this is weather appropriate attire.”

The low laugh her comment elicited from him made her stomach drop again, though the sensation this time was entirely different. “Well, at least you have a giant furball to curl up with if you get cold. Not all of us have that luxury. To be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t bring him along with you.”

Lupa nodded. “Romulus said the smell here was too strong and he needed to clean out his nose.”

Cullen laughed again.

She was smelling meat, and a plate of hot stew was being placed in front of her, along with a mug of mead and a plate of bread.

“If you need another bowl, Herald, just let me know,” the barkeep told her, and Lupa didn’t even have the patience to thank the woman; she was halfway done before the other had made it around the bar again, tearing gracelessly into a piece of tough bread.

“You really weren’t kidding,” Cullen muttered. She knew she was making a mess, eating like an absolute savage, but she didn’t care. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

She scraped the last drops of broth out of the bottom of the bowl with another piece of bread and savoured it before responding. “The Conclave, I suppose. I’m still not exactly sure how long I was out before Cassandra and Leliana came to question me, but Romulus says it’s been about a week.” She could already feel the strength returning to her, but she would need another few solid meals to really come back to herself. “What kind of stew was this?” she asked suddenly.

“Beef?”

She wasn’t sure why he said it like a question. “And what exactly _is_ beef?”

His eyes were wide with surprise. “You’ve never had beef before? What did your Clan eat?”

Lupa frowned slightly, not quite sure why this was such a big deal. “Our hunters were always careful to pick off an equal number of predators and prey wherever we were camping. Usually it was a bear, or a couple of bucks. Sometimes we would be near a river with enough fish that we could have a bit of something different once or twice during our stay.”

“You… never raised poulty, or fowl? Or cattle?”

“Hard to do that when you’re always on the road. Wait… beef comes from cattle, right? Is that why there were always cattle on the farms on the city perimeters?” Lupa was a little disgusted. They actually raised animals simply to send them to a butcher?

Cullen was nodding at her. “Harder to hunt when you anchor yourself down in one place,” he stated evenly.

She tried to think of some way to respond, but a quiet young boy had approached them, and was bowing to her and Cullen.

“Lady Herald,” the boy nodded to her, before turning his full attention to the man next to her. “Commander, Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana request your presence in the War Room directly after lunch.”

“Thank you, Marc. If you’re reporting back, let them know I can meet them earlier if they need.”

The boy was bowing again, and Lupa was turning to her tankard to hide the sad smile that was taking over her face. She took a long draught of the mead she had been given; it was cold, which was strange to her, but it tasted fine.

“Well? Does it stand up to what you had at home?” Cullen was asking.

Lupa laughed quietly. “Nothing stands up to Father’s mead recipe, but it’s still good.”

Cullen drained the last drops from his pint glass, placing it down lightly on the countertop before spinning around and getting to his feet. “Well, Herald, it was lovely to speak with you. Take the rest of the day to yourself. I’m sure you still need rest.” He placed his hand on her shoulder lightly, giving it a soft, comforting squeeze. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Then she was watching his back as he left the tavern, reaching up to brush her shoulder where she could still feel the ghost of his touch lingering.

When the door closed behind him, she turned back to her tankard and finished what was left in one long gulp. This time she was _not_ too exhausted to feel guilty for her behaviour.

_According to Varric, it happens to everyone at least once in their life._

Lupa groaned, heat rising to her face again, bolting from the tavern to the privacy of her cottage so she could face her shame alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening of this chapter was originally going to go at the end of the last, but I thought it should be moved. What happens to Lupa while she's dreaming of Owain is an actual scientific/biological thing that can happen (not sure if it's more common in women than men, but that's really besides the point), and I just thought it would be priceless for Cullen to be in the room with her. Talk about moving quickly...


	6. Lights In the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some hurt, and some healing.

It had taken Cullen and the others a week to get Haven prepared as headquarters for the Inquisition.

It had been more work for some than it had been for others; their Ambassador, Josephine, had been the busiest, but Cullen’s work had hardly changed.

Still, he had thrown himself into his own work with renewed vigor, hoping to keep his mind off of more destructive or distracting thoughts.

Lina had approached them twice a day, every day, like clockwork while they worked, trying to offer help, and every time she was told to take the downtime, to focus on resting and becoming healthy again.

He couldn’t really remember exactly when he had started shortening her name, but it seemed a better fit for her, less bulky, more feminine. In his mind, anyway; he didn’t want to admit the ulterior motives in it to even himself.

They could tell by the third day that she was getting fed up with their coddling, but went along with it, opting to spend the days either in solitary, quiet reflection, or by talking to the people who had gathered, trying to learn as much as she could about the world they lived in.

Cullen admired the way she tried to understand and appreciate their view of things. It had been clear from their slightly awkward conversation in the tavern that she had no idea what life was like outside her Clan.

They had summoned her when it was time for them to officially drop the Inquisition banner over the Chantry doors, and she had stood next to him, a hand on Romulus’ head, giving him a small, shy nod when she noticed him looking at her. He had tried to smile reassuringly at her, but she had turned away before she could see it, a pink flush colouring her cheeks.

When they all turned towards the War Room, he trailed behind, allowing her to put some distance between them. He wanted nothing more than to catch up to her, to ask her something, anything, to get her talking again, maybe hold the door to the War Room open for her to see the demure way her cheeks would colour pink again at the gesture.

She had been distant since their discussion in the tavern, and he wondered if he had said something to offend her.

Instead he took the opportunity to appreciate the way she moved: her pace was neither hurried nor laboured, with light footsteps and bare feet no more than whispering across the floor. There was a strong confidence in the way she carried herself, as if she was aware of absolutely everything around her, or only of herself. There was something serene about the way she always stayed in contact with the wolf at her side, sometimes with just a hand, occasionally with an arm thrown fully over its neck, sometimes massaging its ear with a motion that sent his mind reeling and his heart pounding.

She stopped just past the threshold of the War Room, taking a place on the near side of the table next to Cassandra, leaning over and placing both hands down on the tabletop to take a look at the map spread out in front of her.

Seeing her bent lightly over the edge of the table was exactly the _last_ thing he needed going in to a meeting, and he took a deep breath before hurrying to close the door behind him, making his way to his usual place around the table, hoping there was enough blood left in his brain to follow what was happening.

It was a vain hope, as he spent almost the entirety of their time in the small room admiring the outfit she had chosen: she had pulled her hair back into the bun he had first met her in, a fringe of her hair falling out of the front and sweeping to the side, covering one of her false red eyes; a distinctively elven-looking shirt in lake blue, with fine charcoal details, a high collar, long sleeves, and a large teardrop cutout over her sternum, showing a simple chain with a pendant depicting a six-eyed wolf, made of a dark pewter metal with rubies for the eyes, the top of the valley of her breasts just barely visible; simple black leather pants, which he couldn’t see, but knew were cut off just above the ankles; and as was her usual, no shoes.

Cullen breathed a heavy sigh when they closed the meeting only a few minutes later. He knew they were going to be asking her to head out to the Hinterlands, but he was far from happy to see her go. He tried to convince himself it was from the dangers they had warned her about there, and it was true, but there were a lot of very confusing, muddling thoughts burying the ones that actually made sense.

“Actually, before we all go…” Leliana said, trailing off until everyone returned their attention to her. “We have received correspondence from your Clan, Capitoline. Or is it Lupa?”

Cullen was staring at Leliana, confused by the accusatory tone in her voice, when he was drawn to look back at Lina by a quiet curse and a heavy sigh.

“Ir abelas,” she said quietly, and though Cullen had no idea what it meant, he thought it sounded like an apology. “It is Lupa. At first I was scared, and confused, and thought it safer not to give a true name, but then I realized I was fine, and I could correct myself, but...” She was staring at her hand now, which was twisted into the fur between Romulus’ ears, and her wolf was looking up at her almost sadly. “I think… my Keeper sent me expecting that I would not return, so I decided I could keep my false name, put my past behind me, and embrace my new family. I did not intend it to continue as a falsehood or deception, I just…” She seemed to be struggling to explain herself, but he didn’t care about the explanation; he wanted to jump to her defense, to demand that Leliana stand down and explain why she was so offended by the idea.

Cassandra was nodding. “I think the new name you chose for yourself is much stronger. Can we not continue to use it?”

“You may call me whatever you like,” Lina ( _Lupa?_ ) responded weakly.

“Your honesty does you credit, Herald,” Josephine was saying to Cullen’s left, “though I must agree with Cassandra in this case. While your birth name is lovely, and fitting, a strong name can change the way the people see you. It would be beneficial to your position, and the Inquisition, to continue using it.”

Leliana simply nodded.

“If that’s settled, are we done here? I have some training drills to run with the new recruits,” Cullen asked, trying to mask the hostility he was feeling for her sake, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt.

“I believe so,” Leliana replied, her voice cold.

“We will take the rest of the day to prepare, and leave at first light tomorrow,” Cassandra confirmed.

“What did my Keeper have to say?”

They were all watching her again, and Cullen was concerned when he saw the pain lingering behind her eyes.

“She wished to ensure that you were being treated fairly, as well as inquiring about your imprisonment,” Josephine answered. “As it was addressed to the Inquisition, we took the liberty of replying to let her know you were no longer suspected of any wrongdoing, and that we would be inviting you to join our cause.”

Lina ( _yes, still Lina_ ) nodded, but did not say anything right away. After an uncomfortable moment, she straightened up and turned to leave.

As she opened the door, she turned back around, looking at them each in turn, before settling on Cullen. He shivered at the ghosts he saw in her eyes as she stared at him. “Excuse me,” she said, no more than a whisper.

The door was closing, and he stood frozen, staring at the place she had been not a moment before, his heart breaking for her, and entirely at a loss for what to do about it.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa tried to keep her pace controlled as she left the Chantry, but she still felt like she was fleeing.

She had wanted to tell them, really, she did, but…

She needed some time to herself.

She didn’t know where she was going, and didn’t care, as long as it was away from the others, a place she could clear her head.

The Keeper hadn’t even wanted to send _her_ anything? She was sure they trusted her now, would have given her any correspondence the Keeper had included specifically for her.

It shouldn’t have hurt her as much as it did, but she felt so betrayed, as if now _they_ didn’t trust her, as if she was no longer a part of them, as if she was just some other flat-ear trying to play Dalish.

Not to mention how she must look to her allies now: she had not missed the hostile way Leliana had spoken, and though Cassandra and Josephine had taken the new information in stride, being rather polite about it all, the Spymaster hadn’t said a thing in response.

And neither did _he_.

His opinion shouldn’t matter to her as much as it did. She knew it, but whenever she tried to convince herself otherwise, it seemed to strengthen its significance. His expression had been perfectly neutral, the only sign of reaction coming from the tightening of his eyes, bringing out the fine lines in the corners.

Her dark mood was beginning to spiral out of control far too quickly, but she was already steeped in guilt and betrayal; why not add more? Because now she was wondering what her Clan would think of her if they could see her behaviour with the shemlen man who commanded the Inquisition’s army, how they would react if she brought him to meet them all, if they learned she was wondering if she might one day share a bed with the man-

Lupa’s brain suddenly went blank at the thought. Would she really consider it, should the opportunity arise?

_Promise me you won’t be afraid to move on._

But she _was_ afraid; she was terrified, petrified, that she could forget the one she had thought she loved so completely in so short a time.

She was stopped on the bank of the frozen pond, not even sure why her feet had carried her there, and not entirely sure where she could go until she spotted the tiny islet in the middle of the pond that had a few trees that could hide her from prying eyes. She sent a few tendrils of her magic out to test the ice, and when she determined it was solid enough to safely cross, she made her way.

It took only a few minutes to get there, and when she did, she let her aura expand. She usually kept it under tight control, not wanting to alert anyone or anything to her presence, but sometimes it was nice to let it go a little, to stretch, to touch the things around her and see what it would do.

Despite the destructive nature of her mood, her magic took on a creative roll: thawing snow and icy ground, bringing green grass beneath her feet as she stepped under the canopy of a large cedar, finding a comfortable place to sit.

It wasn’t until she had settled in beneath the tree that she noticed the white and purple trilliums that had trailed behind her on her way up the slope.

Lupa closed her eyes when she saw them, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, trying to understand how her mood had taken such a dark turn. She was ultimately unsuccessful, and Romulus tried to shift closer to her when the first hot tear dropped onto his head in her lap.

She cried for a time, completely unaware of everything except the terrible well of emotions knotting up her stomach, though she was not surprised to find slender fingers lightly stroking the end of her ear when she began to run dry.

She opened her eyes when Solas began to wipe her cheeks dry, strangely grateful for his presence, wondering why she hadn’t gone to him in the first place, and when she heaved a choked sigh, he reached out and pulled her forward into a comforting embrace.

He was muttering soothing nonsense in Elvhen into her ear, a hand travelling up and down her spine in a way that made her think of her father, and she calmed down after another few minutes, though he didn’t release her until she had stopped shaking and her breathing had steadied again.

“Your Keeper does not hate you, Little One,” he assured her, and Lupa let him talk. She had no energy left to fight him on it. “She worried you would not be given anything should she send it, or that the information would be used against you, or the Clan. I have been keeping an eye on them, you know this, and your Keeper and your father are worried sick for you. Perhaps it would be a good idea to visit one of them tonight, before we go?”

All Lupa could do was nod.

“As for our handsome Commander,” Solas continued, and Lupa felt the heat rising to her face at the tone his voice had taken, “he thought you may have run away when he couldn’t find you after your War Council convened. I told him I would find you, but he was beside himself with concern. Do not fight this, Little One. You made a promise.”

“But he…” Lupa didn’t know how to finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Solas knew her too well, just like Owain had.

“Do not worry about what he is, or was, or anything about it for that matter,” he soothed. “You feel it again, starting to thaw, like the ground around you, I know you do. Let it grow like the flowers, Lupa. What matters is what _you_ want, what makes _you_ happy. If your Clan doesn’t like your choice of bed partner, the issue is with them, not you, and certainly not him. He wants to understand so he can help you, too. Let him.”

Lupa still felt terrible, but she could bear it. Of course Solas was right; he had lived so long, seen so much, had made his own mistakes. She could learn through him.

Romulus sent her a wave of reassurance, told her he still loved her no matter what.

“Ma serannas, Fen’Harel,” she whispered to the elf squatting in front of her, and he smiled at her sadly.

“From what I understand, our trip into the Hinterlands will not be easy. It is a dangerous front on the Mage-Templar conflict, and we both are at a disadvantage against the Commander’s former comrades. Perhaps you can take the rest of the evening to speak to him and find out if there is a way to turn the tables on them,” Solas suggested.

“I think I will,” Lupa responded weakly.

“Perhaps we can learn something of King Maric and his army while we are there.”

She smiled, then; he knew she was a sucker for a history lesson.

“You’re on.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen saw Solas crossing the ice from the little island in the middle of the pond from where he stood overseeing the training exercises with his new recruits. The elf’s footsteps weren’t hurried, so Cullen assumed he had found Lina, and that she was fine. Still, he had to know for sure, and told one of his lieutenants to take over with the recruits so he could talk to the hedge mage.

“She is fine, Commander,” Solas assured him before he could even ask. “She is hurt and more than a little frightened; this world is foreign to her, and it all caught up to her at once, I think.”

“Should I…” Cullen wasn’t sure what he was asking; if he should go to her, if he should or could do _anything_ for her.

It seemed Solas understood what he was trying to say. “Give her time. I believe she means to speak with you before we leave, but it would be best, I think, if you allow her to approach you.”

Cullen nodded. “Thank you, Solas.” His relief was palpable. 

“Good day,” the elf was saying, dipping his head respectfully before returning to the village.

Culen tried to go back to his training, but he couldn’t stop watching the place Solas had come from, hoping she would emerge soon. It was Romulus he spotted first, and the wolf was making its way directly toward him, so Cullen excused himself again to meet it.

When Romulus reached him, he simply showed an image of Lina leaving the islet, stepping from behind a tree and down the slope toward the ice. Cullen nodded, and then Romulus was brushing past him, headed into the village, leaving him and Lina to talk alone again.

He saw her emerging shortly after, and he remembered Solas warning him to let her approach him, so he turned back to his recruits.

Her voice sounded nearby after a few moments, making his heart flutter. “Commander?”

He turned to her slowly, trying to keep himself in control. “Herald,” he acknowledged with a nod. He took a moment to observe her: the way her shoulders slumped forward defeatedly, the way her eyes were cloudy with distraction, the way she was staring at her hands and shuffling her feet, refusing to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“I just… needed some time. Could I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course,” he replied instantly. “What do you need?”

“Well, if we’re going to the Hinterlands tomorrow… we’ll be facing lots of Templars, from what I hear. I was hoping…” She sighed heavily. “You were a Templar, right?”

She had not said it with the measure of disgust it deserved, but Cullen still felt the bitterness starting to crawl its way up his throat. “I _was_ , yes,” he almost spat. “What of it?”

She flinched at the way he said it, and he felt the bitterness leave him, followed by overwhelming guilt an instant later. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he started.

She cut him off. “It’s alright Commander. It… must be a difficult topic for you. Forget I said anything.”

She turned to leave, and before he could stop himself, he reached out to place a hand of her forearm to stop her. He felt her stiffen under his touch almost immediately, and dropped his arm. “Please,” he almost whispered, voice low, “it may not be my favourite topic, but if it means you’ll return healthy and whole, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

She was turning back to him, her shoulders held more squarely than they had a moment ago. “Well… mostly right now, I need to know if there’s a way I can gain an advantage over them,” she admitted. “From what I understand, Solas and I are going to have a bit of a hard time if we have to engage any.”

Cullen nodded. “Templars are trained to deal with Circle mages and maleficar, so they’re excellent at countering Circle approved teachings and illegal magic. A Dalish trained mage, on the other hand…” It was more a personal musing, talking to himself, but she was nodding confidently.

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea. I think I can change a few things to turn it to our favour…” Lina was muttering too, by the end, and then she was silent for a few moments. She looked so small and defeated, just as she had when she left the War Council earlier, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in an embrace.

Instead he took a small step towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him again, eyes suddenly focused and alert, though she didn’t tense at his touch this time. Instead she heaved another sigh, looking down to stare at her hands again. “Look at me, acting like a child who can’t have their way.” Then she was looking up at him, her voice clearer than it had been a moment before. “By the Dread Wolf, what you all must think of me now…I truly never meant any harm by it, but…”

Cullen tried to smile warmly at her, taking his hand from her shoulder. “If the Divine is allowed to take a new name when she ascends to the Sunburst Throne, I think the Herald of Andraste is allowed to take a new name, too.”

His heart swelled when he saw a smile start to creep across her face: it was small and sad, but warm, and he hoped he had eased at least some of her fear. “Thank you, Commander,” she replied quietly, a small strand of hair falling down into her eye. He felt himself reach up and brush it out of the way as if someone else was controlling him, and saw her look away shyly as he tucked it securely behind one long, pointed, pierced ear.

He dropped his hand abruptly, suddenly aware of himself, feeling the heat stinging his face, giving a silent prayer of thanks that it was now too dark for her to see the colour touching his cheeks. “Please, call me Cullen,” he asked her, his voice low again.

“All right, then,” she was saying, looking at him, “but _you_ need to stop calling me Herald if I do.”

Her tone was almost back to normal, and he smirked at the playfulness in it. “And what would you have me call you?” he asked lightly.

“Whatever you like,” she answered.

He bowed slightly to her, taking a step back. “Sleep well, Capitoline,” he said, his voice still low, his words only for her.

“You as well, Cullen,” she replied before turning away towards the village gate, his stomach constricting at the way his name fell from her tongue.

When she was out of sight, he turned back to his recruits and dismissed them for the night. They had worked hard, and could continue in the morning; besides, he was no longer in any shape to properly direct them, his concentration scattered to the wind.

When they were gone, he walked back to the edge of the pond, eyeing the islet she had approached from, thinking that a moment of peace and quiet might be a nice distraction before he tried to sleep.

 

*                             *                             *

 

It had taken Lupa longer than she cared to admit to quell the fluttering feeling in her stomach enough to drift off to sleep.

When she finally did, she travelled far, searching desperately for the familiar feel of her Father.

When she found him, she was happy to see he was sleeping peacefully, troubled neither by dreams or nightmares. His presence made her feel like she was five years old again: it was warm and protective, just as it had been growing up, even in sleep. She tried not to disturb him, but attempted to ease some of his worry with her own aura, making it strong and confident and content, though she didn’t try to hide how much she missed him.

She stayed only a moment before slipping away, but she thought she felt him give her an unconscious embrace before she left.

Her sleep went uninterrupted then, and Romulus woke her just before dawn; she had just enough time to tame her hair and outfit herself in the light armour and new staff that had been left for her in a small chest the afternoon before. She checked herself in the looking glass briefly before taking a deep breath and crossing to the door of the cottage.

Lupa opened the door and abruptly stopped short. She blinked slowly a few times, trying to make sense of the sight in front of her.

Sitting on the front step of her cottage were two trilliums: one white and one purple, clearly picked from her haven the previous afternoon.

She bent to pick them up, cradling them gently in her hands, before reaching up to secure one behind her ear, and the other into her braid before continuing on her way to meet the others. Her chest felt full, as if her heart had swollen to twice its normal size, and she didn’t try to stop the warm smile she could feel stretching across her face.

She did not need to ask to know who had left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt incredibly different while I was writing it, and I actually found it a bit challenging - mostly because my boyfriend had three days off and I was trying to write while being bombarded with all kinds of distractions that I wouldn't normally have if I was writing while he's at work. 
> 
> I'm hoping it still fits with the rest of the story so far. 
> 
> I have a busy weekend ahead, so I may not even get to start on the next Chapter until Monday, but I'll have it up as soon as I can.


	7. On Blacken'd Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dalish magic!

The trip from Haven to the Hinterlands had taken a good part of the day, but the walk was easy, and they got straight to work after meeting with Scout Harding. Solas had noted how quiet and distracted his Little One had been on the journey, and didn’t need to hide his smile from her; she wouldn’t have seen it anyway.

He had very easily put the pieces together, and was happy to see that she carried herself more confidently than she had before, even in her distraction: shoulders squared, back straight, pace steady; quiet, controlled power seemed to seep from her every time she moved, the type that made you realize she would show no mercy if she was crossed, but mostly went towards kind thoughts and gestures, using it for the good of others before her own ambition.

They took a quick break at the camp the Inquisition scouts had already set up before heading out to the Crossroads to find the Revered Mother they were here to collect. He watched her take the flowers from her hair and weave them magically into her staff, changing them from soft petals to carved wood, so they might survive the hardships to come. He smiled warmly again to see her taking such great lengths to keep them.

“You seem to care a great deal about these flowers, lethallin,” he stated evenly. “Where did they come from?”

His question was teasing, and it seemed she knew it, though her response was also controlled. “They were left on my front step this morning. They were so beautiful, I couldn’t just leave them behind to rot while we were gone.”

“It seems you have an admirer.”

“She has lots of admirers, Chuckles. That’s why she has a fancy title,” Varric chimed in, but his tone was knowing.

“Perhaps we will never know who went to such lengths to procure such rare specimens.”

“Oh, shut it, both of you,” Lupa laughed quietly, a flush starting to creep up her face, and they laughed with her.

Romulus warned them of fighting a few moments later, the smell of blood and adrenaline fogging their senses momentarily. They followed his lead, and after another few moments, Cassandra was unsheathing her sword as the sounds of it reached their ears.

When they reached the Crossroads, Solas gathered the others to him to quickly cast a barrier before they got sucked into the fighting, and then his staff was spinning, fire and lightning and ice surrounding them as the apostates showered them with the same. Solas could hear Cassandra trying to convince them that they were not Templars, but it seemed the mages didn’t hear her, or ignored her words.

“I do not think they care, Seeker!” he shouted.

He spared a moment to check on Lupa; she seemed to be okay for now, and Romulus was taking down a mage not far away, keeping her in his sights at all times.

Solas allowed himself a moment of pride; he had done well in choosing Romulus for her.

He watched as Varric put a bolt through the chest of the last mage, and they had a small moment to breathe before the sound of heavy armour could be heard not far off.

“Be ready! More headed our way!” he shouted, and they all gathered around him to have their barriers refreshed.

They scattered again, and then the Templars were on them. These men were trained soldiers, and decidedly more organized than the mages they had just eliminated, trying to determine their easiest target before engaging any of them.

Cassandra and Varric took no time in attacking, and Solas began to throw spells, watching as his Little One tried to do the same from far to his left.

Her cast was incredibly weak; she had tried for ice, and it didn’t go well. He stopped short when the Templars seemed to turn to her, as one, and began bearing down in her direction.

Solas strengthened her barrier, and was about to run to her defense when he felt her aura expanding.

He knew how to read the subtle nuances of her aura well; in the Fade, it was difficult to keep it as tightly bound as in the waking world. There was a jumble of emotions riding through it now, but the most prominent were mischief and accomplishment.

It took Solas only another second to realize she had cast weakly on purpose, baiting them to target her, and he stopped casting to watch what would come next.

Her aura had expanded and strengthened to fill the whole valley, and even Romulus had stopped to watch her, tightly coiled, ready to spring. The ground beneath Solas’ feet was shaking lightly, and a moment later he saw gnarled tree roots breaking through the earth around Lupa’s feet, surrounding her in a ring, reaching upwards towards the sun, swaying back and forth slowly as if a light breeze blew through them, or as if dancing to a slow waltz. The Templars slowed, unsure how to react to this strange magic; it was not elemental in the way their Circle mages’ was, and when they tried to negate it as they usually would, nothing happened.

Solas couldn’t see her clearly, but he knew she would have a sly, lupine grin on her face, as she always did when she was getting in to trouble.

One Templar charged her, swinging his sword in a great arc, perhaps hoping to slice through the roots to get to her. One of the roots closest to him whipped out and grabbed the hilt of the sword in the man’s hand, wrenching it away and flinging it aside, while a second stretched out towards the man’s helmet, finding its way under the edge and wrapping itself around his throat.

The Templar screamed, and it was a sound that made his fellows shudder and cringe, reeling away from the mage in front of them, until the sound was cut off abruptly by the root tightening around his windpipe. It twisted and coiled, strengthening its grip, until finally the man’s head came free of his shoulders with a quiet pop and a fountain of crimson blood.

The other Templars regained their senses after a moment, trying to come after her, perhaps hoping their numbers would be enough to subdue her. She was standing her ground, and Solas saw her barrier failing, reaching out to repair it again, just as white hot pain lanced through his left shoulder, and he heard her cry out at the same time Romulus let out a loud, strangled yelp.

Solas found the wolf charging a Templar that had gotten too close to Lupa, blood staining the wolf’s front left flank, and Solas watched as Romulus rolled off the man just in time for Cassandra to put her blade through his chest.

Romulus righted himself, testing his weight on his injured shoulder, and stumbled, going down for a moment before righting himself and swinging his head back and forth slowly, as if trying to clear his senses. He tried to limp back into the fight, giving up after a few steps, not putting any weight on his front left paw.

Lupa’s aura was full of rage, and strengthening again; Solas watched in awe as a small pack of wolves charged onto the field, crows and ravens and an eagle flew in from all directions, and mayhem took over.

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric swore, “I’ve seen my fair share of Dalish magic, but this is something else.”

Solas had not seen the dwarf approach, and he didn’t respond right away, trying to concentrate on what was happening to Lupa, watching as the grass at their feet wove around the remaining Templars’ boots, rooting them to their respective spots while the birds carried off their helmets, tore at their faces with talons and beaks, and the wolves charged, ripping at their throats and spraying blood everywhere.

“Where have you seen such things?” Solas asked curiously as the last Templar went down in a shower of crimson.

“Hawke and I had a friend from one of the Clans in the Marches, their First. She was a blood mage, though. I guess that makes a difference.”

“Indeed,” Solas responded. “Excuse me, but I need to see to Romulus as quickly as possible.”

“No problem. He doesn’t look good.”

Solas was moving, running, as he felt exhaustion sweep through his Little One’s aura, which was finally retracting. The beasts she had called were still milling around, though the crows and ravens had taken flight back to their nests already: the wolves were trying to help Romulus, and the eagle had settled on Lupa’s shoulder, but she was kneeling on the ground, drained, and he heard her yelling for Romulus, her voice broken and weak.

The wolves surrounding Romulus parted for Solas as he approached, and he let his magic wash over the poor beast, feeling out the worst of his injury, before kneeling down next to him and placing a hand lightly on the gash. It was not as bad as he had anticipated; Romulus must have rolled out of the way just in time, receiving a wide slash instead of a deep stab wound, and it took Solas little time to stitch flesh and skin back together for him. When he was done, Solas allowed Romulus to stand.

“How is it?”

Romulus tested his weight, and Solas felt his discomfort, like a deep itch, but also overwhelming gratitude wash over him as the wolf was able to put weight on it. He started to walk, and then trot, before breaking into a full sprint to reach Lupa, barely stopping himself short of her so he wouldn’t bowl her over.

The refugees were finally sticking their head out of doors and windows, emerging slowly when they saw the Inquisition scouts and soldiers filing into the valley, and Solas walked to his Little One slowly, handing her a lyrium potion.

“What is this?” she asked weakly, studying the little bottle in her hand.

“It will help you replenish your lost mana more quickly,” he told her, searching for Cassandra and Varric. They were talking to the Inquisition soldiers, far enough away that he couldn’t hear them. “You are getting quite strong, Little One, but perhaps it would be easier in future to not push yourself so far.”

“Probably for the best, but at least I know now what I can do,” she agreed. “I would really love to find a spot to set up camp near a source of water. I hate being covered in blood.”

Solas chuckled. “See if you can’t find the Revered Mother first, then we can see about finding a camp.”

The eagle began to hop down her arm as she drank the potion Solas had given her, leaping to his shoulder instead.

“I’m not entirely sure why it’s sticking around, but maybe it knows of a place we can go?” she said, making it sound like a question.

“Perhaps,” he replied, reaching up to stroke the bird’s chest lightly. “I will see what I can determine and see the wolf pack on their way while you speak to Giselle.”

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she said quietly. He helped her stand, and she smiled at him, placing her hand on Romulus’ head before turning away from him, leaving him alone with the beasts she had called to their aid.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa was glad to be done for the day.

She had spoken to Mother Giselle and sent her back to Haven before speaking with the refugees. They had their work cut out for them; these people barely had any clothes on their backs, no food, and no proper shelter.

Varric had gone back up to the plain to hunt some rams for them, taking Inquisition soldiers with him to return the animals to the refugee camp so they could have something to eat and skins to prepare into coats, and then they had searched for a place to camp where they could get clean.

The eagle she had called earlier had stayed until they set out, flying high and circling over a spot not far away. They reached a clearing next to a small pond, and the eagle finally took its leave.

They set up a small camp, and took turns heading out to the pond to clean away the dirt and blood that had built up on them over the course of the day. Solas waded out first to set up fire runes around the pond to warm the water from its frigid state before allowing Cassandra her privacy.

Lupa wanted desperately to get clean, but she also wanted to take her time, and so told the others to go ahead of her. When Varric finally returned, dusk had set in and dinner had been served: a simple ram stew with a few different roots they had managed to pull up from a nearby abandoned farm. She ate first, enjoying their simple meal, before offering Solas the chance to get clean; he declined, and she grabbed a fresh change of clothes before wading out underneath a small waterfall that was hidden behind a few large trees. She didn’t care if the others saw her, but she knew they were far more prudish than her Clan had been.

Romulus followed her, sitting under the waterfall while she stripped out of her blood-stained clothes and tried to scrub them clean on the pebbles and silt on the floor of the pond. She got them as clean as she could, hanging them on a low branch of the nearby trees before sitting next to Romulus under the waterfall, legs crossed in front of her, helping him clean his fur. She worked her fingers through his thick, heavy fur, massaging his back and his healed shoulder.

_How do you feel?_

He pulled his aura in tight before answering, showing her the entire ordeal, her senses going cloudy with the pain and fear before clearing with a dull itch deep in her left shoulder.

_You were lucky. It could have been much worse._

She could feel his curiosity, and then an image of him in armour flashed before her.

“Hmmm…” That wasn’t a bad idea; she’d have to talk to Harritt when they got back. If they could do it for horses, why couldn’t they do it for Rom?

Now Romulus was stepping out from under the waterfall, shaking the excess water from his fur, and told her he was going to go lay by the fire to dry.

Lupa watched him go before closing her eyes and breathing deeply, trying to relax as the water crashed over her, focusing on releasing the tension from each set of muscles, starting from her neck and working her way down.

When she was done, she enjoyed the feel of the water running over her, through her hair, along her back, flowing past her thighs and swirling around her feet. She imagined that it carried all her heavy emotions with it: all her bitterness, her hurt, her guilt; all the awful things she had been feeling the day before, and even early that morning, before she had found the flowers on her step. She imagined it carried away her confusion and discomfort with the shemlen world she had been dragged into, imparting instead its properties: fluidity, strength, determination, patience, peace.

She took a deep breath, awash with serenity, and soaked in it for a few moments, until a voice reached out to her from what seemed like a thousand miles away.

“May I join you?”

She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw Solas standing a few feet away under one of the trees. She smiled and nodded, turning away again and closing her eyes, returning to her meditation.

She noted the way the water changed its flow when he sat next to her, and they were both quiet for a few minutes. When Lupa opened her eyes again, she saw Solas watching her, eyes focused on her face, trying to get a read on her.

“I have not seen you so at peace in too long, Little One,” he said quietly.

Lupa didn’t answer him, opting instead to ask a quiet question. “Those flowers… I’m sure you didn’t leave them, but did you…”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words to him, but he knew what she was asking. “I told him nothing,” he assured her. “Only that I had found you and you were upset, and that I thought you would wish to speak with him before retiring for the night. I did not speak to him again before we left. He must have followed your example and taken a quiet moment for himself.”

She nodded again. “I didn’t thank you earlier for tending to Romulus for me. I was so tired, I wouldn’t have been able to do it myself.”

“It does not require any thanks, Little One.”

They were quiet again for a few moments. “What am I doing here, Fen’Harel?” she asked suddenly.

Solas frowned, his face lined with worry. “I do not know, but I am glad to be here with you. It may seem arrogant of me, but I do happen to be an expert on the Fade, and I learned that they were trying to fix what had gone wrong, so I offered my services. That part of my story is no deception.”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Lupa admitted quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do here if I didn’t have you with me.”

“You would have been just fine,” Solas soothed her.

“But Romulus might be dead already.” She paused for a few seconds before continuing. “I think he wants a suit of armour made.”

“Actually, that is an excellent idea,” Solas agreed. “I’m sure Harritt would think you crazy, but I doubt he would turn down the challenge.” He sat regarding her for another minute before he spoke up again, voice soft with concern. “Are you feeling any better, Little One?”

She sighed heavily. “For the time being. I’m afraid it won’t be so easy to let go of all of it so quickly, but I can’t carry it around forever. I… made a promise.”

“You did. I think you will be able to keep it, but I agree it will not be easy for you.” Solas stood up again, turning back to the shore to retrieve his clothes. Lupa watched him go, thinking about how strange it was to see him like this, as if he were just another flat-ear running among the shemlen. When he reached the shore, he pulled his clothes back on before he turned back to her. “Remember that I am here if you need me, Little One. I will not abandon you.”

“How could I ever forget?”

Solas laughed. “When you are done there, I believe I promised you we would learn of King Maric?”

He didn’t wait for a response, and a few moments later Lupa picked herself up to follow him, feeling lighter than she had since she left her Clan.

 

*                             *                             *

 

They spent a total of two weeks in the Hinterlands, doing what they could to help the refugees and trying to gain the aid of Horsemaster Dennett. It was hard work, but they all felt better for having done it.

They had been able to drive the Templars and the apostates out of the area, clearing out the worst of the fighting so the people would be safer, bringing in fresh soldiers with supplies, offering protection for those wishing to travel to Haven.

When they finally managed to make the farms safe to return to, the Horsemaster pledged himself to the Inquisition. It was the last thing they had needed to do there, and it was decided that they would return to Haven the following day.

A scout had sent a raven ahead, and Leliana had shared the news with Cullen and Josephine.

Cullen almost wished he hadn’t been told, because then he might be able to concentrate on his duties, instead of looking up at the road they would be approaching on every five seconds. He had spent the last two weeks convincing himself that professionalism was most important, that she couldn’t possibly be as dangerously appealing as he had thought she was, that she wouldn’t appreciate it if he was anything more than cordial-

But when they came into view from around the bend in the road, he had to physically restrain himself so he wouldn’t run to greet her.

They were all mounted, even Varric, and Romulus was trotting along next to the horse Lina was riding on; he was confident it was a good sign regarding the Horsemaster, as they had left on foot. When they stopped near the stables, he reached up, offering her his hand to help her down from her horse.

She looked uncomfortable in a saddle, but her face softened with a smile when she saw him standing there, making his heart pound even more fiercely than it had been the moment before. She took his hand and hopped down, allowing a stablehand to take the reins of her Forder and guide him to the stables.

Cullen let go of her hand when he saw the others approaching, watching her cheeks flush pink when she realized he had not let her go right away.

“Seeker,” Cullen said more evenly than he had expected to, nodding at Cassandra in greeting. “I trust all went well?”

“I believe it did. We are tired from the road, so let us hold off on a meeting until tomorrow morning,” she replied to him.

“Of course. I’ll have a runner sent to Sister Leliana and Lady Josephine for you.”

“Thank you, Commander. If you’ll excuse me?” But she was already brushing past him, followed by Solas, who smiled at Lina, and Varric, who was chuckling quietly under his breath, prompting Cullen to reach up and rub the back of his neck. Even Romulus walked ahead to follow the others.

He watched them leave, and was surprised to see Lina made no move to follow them.

When he turned back to her, he saw that her staff was different, with two flowers sprouting from the tip: one painted white, the other painted a rich plum purple.

“Do you like it?” she asked him shyly when she saw him looking. “I couldn’t let them just die.”

He realized suddenly that they were the flowers he had put on her step for her the night before they left. “I didn’t know it was possible to do that,” he replied honestly, but he surged with pride to know she had kept them, even felt strongly enough about them to transfigure them into the wood her staff had been made from so she could keep them with her.

“I want to thank you,” she said more confidently, “for your tip regarding the Templars. I’m sorry to say I killed a great deal of them, but you were right: they have no idea what to do about Dalish nature magic.”

Cullen could see the sadness and shame in her eyes, but he was surprised by how little he cared for the fate of his fellow Brothers. She was here. She was safe, and whole, and had returned to him in perfect health.

He didn’t care about much else.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken their lives if your own wasn’t endangered,” he offered, and saw her visibly relax.

“No, these ones were particularly vicious. And the mages in the area were just as bad.” She shook her head. “We’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

He nodded, content to let it go until then so she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. “Did you have anything to attend to today, now that you’ve returned?”

“I’d love to wash off the dirt from the road, and I’ll need to talk to Harritt for a few minutes, but after that I hadn’t planned on anything.” She was giving him _that_ look again, the very first one he had ever seen on her face, and her tone turned mischievous. “Why do you ask, Commander?”

“Ah, I… um, well, I thought we…” He wasn’t even sure why he asked her in the first place, and he was afraid he didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to continue a conversation, but he hoped he would be able to spend some time with her.

She laughed, and the sound made him dizzy. “I’ll find you when I’m done,” she said confidently, turning to watch him over her shoulder for a few seconds as she walked away.

He watched her until she was out of sight, his head spinning. He had tried so hard while they were away to convince himself that he wasn’t falling head over heels for a woman, an elf, a _mage_ he barely even knew.

He had never been so wrong in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably took the Dalish magic a bit far, but she is a Capitoline, so I thought the animals would be a nice touch. 
> 
> Also Solas, because he's kind of important.


	8. Voice of the Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full Cullen POV. He really is a good student. 
> 
> Two instances of referenced non-con, though no truly detailed accounts.

Lina took no more than an hour, but for Cullen, it felt like days. He was usually much more patient, but there was something about her that made all his carefully cultivated discipline disappear.

He tried to focus on his recruits and their training, but his lieutenants had taken over; they knew he was distracted. All of them had been whispering about it for weeks, since their Commander had first spoken to her in the tavern; they knew he was headed down a slippery slope, but as much as they poked fun at him when he couldn’t hear, they all agreed the man deserved it.

Cullen finally watched her emerging from the village gates about half an hour later, Romulus at her side, hair loose, wearing another decidedly elven outfit. She didn’t look his way, instead turning and continuing up the road toward the blacksmith. He had honestly forgotten she had said she needed to speak with the man, but it didn’t stop him from sulking like a stubborn child when she didn’t come to see _him_.

He heard someone laughing quietly, turning to find the source of it, but everyone seemed to be taking their training very seriously… _too_ seriously. He gave up after only a minute, trying to look like he was concentrating on his work, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder every few seconds, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

She was only another couple of minutes with the smith, and when she emerged on the road again, she was alone. She saw him watching, staring him down just as he was her, and started to walk across the ice towards her islet, nodding towards it over her shoulder at him.

Cullen didn’t move from his spot; he knew everyone had seen her go, would start talking the moment he made to follow, and groaned inwardly, breathing a short, heavy sigh as he reached up to rub the back of his neck, trying to ward off the withdrawal headache that was beginning to build.

“Commander?” one of his lieutenants said from close by. Cullen turned to him, and swore quietly, feeling heat creeping up his neck when he saw the expression on the man’s face. “That was a pretty clear message. I wouldn’t make the Herald wait if I were you.”

Cullen just sighed, this time deeply, before nodding and making his way. His lieutenant immediately began barking orders, trying to divert the soldiers’ attention.

He would thank the man later.

Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other lightly as he made his way across the ice. He was about halfway when she reached the shore, and he felt her aura expanding, the unmistakable feel of her signature swirling around him, making him a little dizzy. It was wild, but sweet as well, reminding him of the sugar cookies and hot cocoa his mother would give them after dinner sometimes if they had been good. He recognized the sweetness, the innocence of it: it was common among young mages when they were first brought to a Circle and hadn’t been trained in the destructive elements yet.

He hoped Lina’s would never change.

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself when he was a few steps away from the shore, realizing that her aura had suddenly taken on the smell of flowers. He wasn’t surprised by it, as it wasn’t the first time she would have grown them from nothing on the small spit of land he was finally stepping on to; it was a familiar smell, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He opened his eyes again when he was solidly off the ice, and gasped; the last time she had been here, he had stepped into a field of white and purple trilliums.

This time, she had grown roses.

There were small bushes everywhere, but each had easily three dozen flower heads on them, some still young and tightly folded, others more mature and fanned out, showing the beautiful swirl of their petals, reminding him of the swirl of the tattoos on her skin. Many were white, or a deep, dark red; here and there he would see a bush full of light pink, or bright yellow, even a couple of colours he knew to be unnatural, matching the blue and purple in her hair.

There was a small path through them, and he followed it, finding her sitting back comfortably against the trunk of a cedar. He smiled at her before lowering himself to do the same against a pine across from her, reaching out to brush his gloved fingers against the petals of a velvety red rose to his right.

“Even more lovely than the last,” he murmured, turning back to her after a moment; she was blushing lightly, looking at her hands in her lap shyly.

“I just let my aura go a bit. Apparently it likes to grow things.”

“There are far worse things it could do,” he told her, and she finally looked up at him. He was breathless at how truly relaxed she looked: she was still strong and powerful, but he had never seen her face look so open and trusting before.

Not that he’d seen much of her at _all_ before, but what he saw in her at that moment gave him a small measure of hope.

“I… want to apologize for my behaviour, Cullen. I learned much while we were away, and I realize this is a very different world than the one I grew up in. I’m almost surprised someone didn’t have me… removed,” she admitted quietly.

“I certainly understood, and I’m sure the others did, as well,” he responded. “There’s no need to be so hard on yourself.”

She smiled at him, and it was small, but warm. “Did anything exciting happen here while we were away?”

“Nothing of note. Just more pilgrims and recruits. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Lina simply nodded.

They were quiet for a minute, and Cullen watched her as she reached out to a rose bush next to her, coaxing a young bud to mature, to open up and let its petals unfold in a mesmerizing whorl that had his imagination headed in directions he’d rather not let it.

Instead, he cleared his throat lightly, and she looked away from the flower to stare at him again. He looked down at his hands under the intensity of her regard, feeling his face turning red. “I’ve only ever met one Dalish elf before, but I know nothing of Dalish culture, though I’ve always been curious,” he admitted shyly to her, expecting to be told that no human could ever understand, that they didn’t deserve to understand-

As always, she surprised him. “What would you like to know?” she asked openly, and he began bombarding her with questions about everything, from different jobs to her training as a First to day-to-day life.

She answered all his questions honestly (at least, he hoped he did, but he knew so little about the Dalish that he wouldn’t know any differently if she didn’t), and finally he settled on the last two questions he had, the ones he was so afraid to ask for their intimacy, the ones he had purposely avoided before.

“Your tattoos…” he started quietly, and she didn’t wait for him to finish his question before launching into an explanation.

“Are called _vallaslin_ , most closely translated to _blood writing_.” She continued to explain in detail about the current Dalish view of them, and the historical purpose of them, before explaining how they were applied.

“How… _extensive_ are they?”

“Well, it depends on the God in question, though many go beyond the simple face markings. Mine are particularly busy,” she admitted.  

“Who do yours represent, then? They don’t seem to fit the others you mentioned,” he asked, trying to distract himself from what he imagined the rest of her looked like, the way the lines would swirl around her curves the way the rose petals had unrolled as she encouraged it, the way she would shiver and pant as he traced them, her skin flushed just enough to make them stand out, like the night she had been healing in her cottage-

“I created mine myself,” she answered proudly, breaking his train of though. “They represent the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel.”

“I have to admit, all your different Gods are confusing me.”

She laughed, but it was a kind sound. “Would you like some history on them? I can show you,” she offered, and he cocked his head curiously. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she giggled, and he felt her aura twisting lightly, reaching out to the Fade, and then there were images dancing on the grass in front of them; many were animals, including an owl, a dragon, a hare, one of the elven deer he couldn’t remember the name for, a pair of crows, and a giant white wolf, like Romulus, though this one had… three pairs of eyes.

“I take it the Rom with six eyes is your Dread Wolf?”

“He is,” she nodded, and launched into her explanation with a fervor and a passion that made his chest constrict and his stomach flutter.

She started by giving each of the figures in front of her their respective names before launching into her history lesson. “The Dalish now believe that Fen’Harel was a god of deception and trickery, and blame him for our fall from grace, for the end of the Elvhenan, for our loss of Arlathan. They say he was the only one who could walk safely between our Old Ones, and the ones we called the Forgotten.” She told him of how they had warred with no concern for the People, and how Fen’Harel had finally intervened and ultimately ended up sealing the Gods away, before slipping into Uthenera in the Veil, his fur stained black ad his eyes red with his deception.

“The truth is a little more personal, and a lot less bloody,” she continued, showing him the true Fen’Harel, god of rebellion: how he had made it his purpose to help the People, to save them from slavery and other forced servitude to the other Gods; how the Hare, Andruil, had hunted and captured the Dread Wolf, keeping him hostage for a year and a day. “He had spurned her advances, you see, and she was bitter, taking from him what he would not give her willingly.” She showed his escape, and how he had grown dark with rage at the sight of what had been done to the People in his absence, rushing for the Temple of Mythal to try and get his old friend and only sympathizer to explain what had happened, only to find her murdered; How his fury stained him black and red as he cast the other Gods out, believing it to be the only way to save the People, before slipping into his Uthenera.

“How do you know this is the truth of it?” he asked when the figures in front of him finally faded, full of awe.

“Have you ever been told something that goes against everything you know, and it just… feels right? Like you’ve known it all along but needed someone to speak it for you?”

He was nodding, thinking of many moments in the last decade alone where he had experienced such moments.

“It was like that for me. When Fen’Harel first came to me, he was the White Wolf you saw before, not the Dark Wolf he became. I have only ever seen him Dark once before, and I hope to never see it again.”

“You… you speak with Fen’Harel? One of your Gods?” He was in awe of her all over again; not only had she been sent by the Maker in their hour of need, she had been chosen by one of her own as well.

“Almost nightly since I was about 12 years into this world,” she replied.

“So your Gods… they’re real? Actually real?” The concept seemed so bizarre to him; part of what defined the Andrastian religion was not knowing if the Maker was real, but having the faith to believe that he was… But Andraste had been real, had she not? Was that truly so different from the Elven Pantheon?

She was smiling tightly, as if she could read his train of thoughts. “Our worship is very different from yours.”

“You say you only saw him Dark once? What happened?”

Her expression turned sour quickly, and he scrambled. “I’m sorry, I should have guessed it wasn’t a pleasant-”

“No, it’s okay,” she said with a sigh, visibly trying to relax her bitter expression. “Bottling it up does nothing to help.” She had conjured another figure up, this one a relatively young elf with a vallaslin showing a drawn bow. “He… was one of our Hunters, just newly promoted from Apprenticeship and given his vallaslin.” Then he was gone, and he saw a younger version of her, bare skinned, no piercings, only one set of eyes herself, and Cullen found she looked strange, small, undoubtedly vulnerable without it all. “Not everyone trusted my connection to the Dread Wolf, and he decided that since he was officially an adult, he would… test his limits,” she was whispering weakly by the end, the vision shifting to him ducking into a small lean-to where she was sleeping peacefully, throwing back her blanket aggressively, leaving her exposed before it twisted violently again to show her curled tightly on her side, hand held tightly by another young elf, this one also bare-faced, with dark hair and an expression both terribly sad and absolutely furious; it took Cullen only a moment to piece together what had happened, and the vision was gone again.

“The bastard got what he deserved, I hope?” the venom in his voice was clear, and he had to get the words out through a tight jaw.

She nodded, clearing her throat. “Killed on a hunt the next morning. I still don’t know exactly what happened, but the Clan was not unaware of what he did to me, and expressed similar sentiments regarding his passing.”

“Where was Romulus? And who was the other elf, the one who stayed with you afterwards?”

“Romulus came to me as a result of that night, about two months later. A gift from Fen’Harel, naturally.” Cullen saw the sadness that shifted into every line of her body, and she began to twist her rings around her finger. “The other elf… His name was Owain.”

Cullen began to process this new information, feeling his heart stop when he realized she must be… _Maker’s breath,_ he thought, trying not to let his overwhelming disappointment show, until he processed what she had said-

“‘Was?’”

She nodded. “He…died. A few months before I was sent to the Conclave. I’m sure it was the reason I was sent away.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered immediately, voice low, sincerely hoping his relief wasn’t obvious.

“Unless you’re the stupid shemlen noble from Starkhaven who thought a phoenix would be a great pet for your daughter, you have no need to apologize,” she replied bitterly, but Cullen didn’t take it personally.

He let them fall silent for a minute, considering if he should ask his last and most desperate question now that she was hurting again. He _had_ to know, to figure out the truth of her connection to this other elf, but didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable.

He decided that he may not ever have another opportunity like this one, and asked, trying to word it in such a way that she could politely refuse, but give him the option to bring it up later on. “Would you be willing to tell me about Dalish courting rituals?”

The sadness left her face abruptly, replaced by a raised eyebrow and sly grin he would never get tired of seeing on her. “Oh? What an interesting question. And just what do you plan to do with the information, Commander?”

Cullen’s face was turning red again, he could feel it, but she was laughing heartily before he could try to stumble through an excuse. “As far as I know, courtship rituals are a relatively new thing, since the Second Exalted March, when the People were brought under heel again. First, can I see if I understand the shemlen routine correctly, so I can compare?”

“Of course,” he immediately responded.

“Okay, so marriage is an Andrastian faith thing, right? Religious, not cultural?” When he nodded, she continued. “So the Andrastian faith tells you to save yourself for the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with - though no one actually does that – and then the man presents the ring to his woman. Are there marriages between two men or two women?”

“No, it’s always a man and a woman, though such relationships aren’t necessarily looked down upon, depending on where you are,” he answered her matter-of-factly.

“Interesting,” she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “Anyway, once the ring is presented, it begins a formally recognized union, though said union can still be broken at any time leading up to the marriage, which is considered the ‘ultimate’ commitment.”

“That’s the basic gist of it.”

“Good. The Dalish also have a significance in gifted rings, though the adults are encouraged to take their time finding their partner, and we have no shame in giving in to… physical temptations. Free love is practiced gladly.”

“Only adults, though?” he asked, still thinking of the vision she had shown him earlier, her bare face still swimming before his eyes. “And the…valsallin? It’s a mark of adulthood and maturity, right? So if you don’t have them yet…”

She was giggling. “Vallaslin,” she corrected him kindly, “but yes.”

“That makes it…”

“Worse than you originally thought?” she observed, seeming to follow his train of thought again. “Quite.”

“I’m so sorry,” he offered again, knowing the words meant little to nothing.

“It’s alright. I had help putting the incident in the past; it doesn’t hurt like it used to,” she admitted quietly before continuing. “Anyway, when two people begin to feel that they are growing attached to each other, rings are presented. In the case of a man and woman, it’s usually the man who gifts the rings, but something the woman may do it. In the case of two men or two women, it’s just whoever takes it upon themselves to do it first. Two people can be promised to each other their entire lives. Our ‘ultimate’ commitment is the first child.”

“You said the Dalish are partial to free love though?” he was asking. “Don’t you end up with a lot of children?”

“Every Clan’s Keeper is a mage, and is taught magic to keep such things from happening. It’s quite easy, actually, and it’s a very rejuvenating feeling once you get used to it.”

“That… seems so strange,” he admitted quietly, picking his words carefully, trying not to think about how many elves she had shared a bed with, or how many times she may have had to perform such magic on herself. “You said relationships between same genders are common? How do they have children?”

“Not common, but not unheard of, and certainly not considered wrong. They simply choose a surrogate mother, or a ‘donor’ father, if you will. The couple in question considers the one they wish share their intimacy with for the act of childbearing, even if the one they choose is promised or even has children of their own. Many partners see it as a great honour and have no issue with it.”

Cullen sat quiet for a moment, wondering how something like that could even possibly work, but realizing it was an excellent system. “All we ever hear is about how backwards the Dalish are… it sounds like you’ve all figured out the right of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s some truth to it. We’re just a bit more accepting than your usual Chantry type,” she laughed.

“So your rings… you were promised to someone? Owain?” he guessed. “Do you…”

“No, we don’t have any children,” she said with another sly grin, guessing his question after he had given up on asking it, “though not a fortnight before he was attacked, we had discussed when we would plan to have our first.”

Cullen was quiet, wondering what her children would look like, if they would take her copper-gold hair or the other’s blue-black, blue eyes or grey, her softer features or the other’s sharper ones, and then they were warping, running amok with his blonde curls falling into their eyes-

He stopped his train of thought short, realizing she was watching him. He cleared his throat nervously under the strength of her gaze, and he was about to open his mouth to speak when she dropped her eyes back to her hands, twirling her rings again.

“Owain made me promise him, before he died…” she heaved a long sigh, and when she continued, she sounded a little choked up. “He made me promise I would move on. I’ve been trying, but it’s so hard, every time-” she stopped short, taking in another deep breath.

It took Cullen an agonizing moment to realize what she was admitting to him, but when he did, he couldn’t stop himself; he stood, closing the distance between them in two short strides, and plunked himself down next to her, grabbing her chin softly with a gloved hand and turning her to look at him. There were quiet tears falling down her face, and he used a thumb to brush one away. “You know that we’re here and want to help you, right? That _I_ want to help you?” She blinked at him slowly, another tear falling down her now-dry cheek, and he reached up to wipe it away again. “You have so much ahead of you, and he was right. You don’t need to feel guilty because you’re healing.”

He could feel her turning her face away, and he dropped his hand from her chin, instead putting a comforting arm over her shoulder and drawing her in. She leaned her head against the fur on his collar and sniffled quietly. “Thank you,” she said after a few minutes of silence. “I… needed to get that off my chest.”

“Of course,” he murmured, suddenly aware of how dark it had gotten.

She was starting to straighten up, perhaps to leave, and he let her, getting to his feet himself. “I should thank _you_ for this, Li- Capitoline,” he said to her. “You had no reason to be so open with me.”

“ _Au contraire,_ Commander,” she replied playfully, “I had every reason to be honest with you, and nothing to lose for it. I’m sure my rambling about elven history wasn’t the most exciting thing ever.”

“I learned a lot,” he admitted enthusiastically. “Perhaps you’d be willing to share more in the future?”

“I’d love to. It’s why Fen’Harel chose me, after all,” she answered with a laugh.

Cullen bent down to the rosebush at their feet, plucking the flower she had coaxed open earlier, and taking the barbs off the stem with a small knife he kept on his belt before tucking it behind one of her ears. She smiled demurely at him before turning to head down the slope back to the pond and the village.

“Do you ever wonder if your Maker is real?” she asked him suddenly, and he thought the question an odd one.

“None of us know,” he replied after a few seconds. “That’s part of what makes the faith of those who believe strongly as strong as it is.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she admonished him, earning a dark chuckle.

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

She stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop, and her dusky blues were staring straight through him again. “I wonder… if my Gods are real, what’s to say yours isn’t?”

If he had been moving, he would have stopped short; it was such a simple thing, but so complex at the same time, sending his mind reeling. He watched her turn to leave with a small smile on her face, trying to contemplate how the little elf walking away from him, who had her own beliefs, who wasn’t even Andrastian, had just given him more faith than he’d had in his entire life: in the Maker, in His Bride, and in the Herald of Andraste. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of this lore is well-known to many of us, but he had no idea, and since it was important to him understanding her, I thought it needed to be included. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Please don't be afraid to let me know how I'm doing. I just want to make this an enjoyable experience for all.


	9. Lost To Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cullen... 
> 
> Mildly NSFW for referenced nudity and a little violence. Nothing too crazy.

Lupa woke slowly the next morning, taking her time to leave the Fade. It wasn’t often she felt unrested after a trip there, but today was one of those few: her and Solas had followed the Hero of Ferelden through the old town of Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes, as well as a High Dragon fight. The little dwarf woman was fearless, and Lupa thought Ferelden was lucky to have such a champion.

They had heard stories of Natia Brosca, casteless dwarf of Orzammar, and her nerves of steel when the Blight was ended, but it was another thing entirely to see her in action.

Lupa waited until she could hear Romulus’ soft snoring before opening her eyes and spying the fresh tub of water in the corner, going through the motions of her morning routine before heading out to breakfast and the War Council she would be expected to attend. She was just about to fix her hair when she noticed the rose Cullen had given her the night before on her bedside table, its deep red the same colour as the Antivan wine she loved so much, and she wove it into her braid before exiting her cottage, Romulus on her heels.

She found Solas waiting outside, and she smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, Hahren.”

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her. “Good morning, Little One. May I inquire as to where you received such a lovely flower?”

“Do you really need to?” she asked him playfully as they made their way to the Chantry for breakfast.

“I suppose not,” he murmured, and after a few moments Lupa noticed the lupine grin he had on his face. She almost expect his tongue to loll out the side of his mouth.

“And just what is so amusing today?”

“It seems a great leap, from harmless trilliums to roses,” he answered her evenly.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Solas,” she admitted.

He stopped to turn to her, and she waited for him to explain. “In shemlen culture, roses tend to be synonymous with… amorous affections. Particularly the red ones.”

Ah. She could feel _herself_ turning red, and heard Rom laughing beside her. “Well, I didn’t do anything any different from last time I went out. I just got rose bushes instead, so he took one and gave it to me, like last time.”

Solas just chuckled again, and they continued on toward the Chantry. Lupa let them walk in silence for a short way before speaking up again.

“The Warden really was something, wasn’t she?”

“She is a remarkable woman. The first casteless _and_ surface dwarf to be given the title of Paragon.” Solas turned to look at her again as he continued. “Did you know that Leliana travelled with her? I’m sure she’d be willing to tell you more about her if you asked.”

“Really? I’ll have to track her down after our War Council,” Lupa answered. They had reached the Chantry, and taken a seat at a table in a far corner which usually went unnoticed by all but the serving staff, allowing them to eat in peace while they discussed their nightly trips through the Fade without reservation.

Today they marvelled at the beauty of High Dragons, wondering if they would have the chance to fight any themselves at some point.

“We shall have to make a point of it sometime, Little One,” Solas promised her.

Breakfast was over quickly, and Cassandra was approaching them from across the hall.

“Looks like it’s time for me to go,” Lupa sighed.

“Come see me when you’re done and let me know how it goes.”

“I will,” she promised him as Cassandra stopped next to her, nodding in greeting.

“We are ready to convene, Capitoline,” she stated simply. “Are you ready to join us?”

“I’m right behind you,” Lupa answered, Romulus walking between the two women as they reached the back room of the Chantry where their War Table was housed.

Lupa took her usual spot on the near side of the table, nodding in greeting to the three others who were already gathered. Cullen’s expression stayed entirely neutral as he greeted her, but she saw a smile touch his eyes, bringing out the lines in the corners when he spotted the flower in her hair.

They started with Lupa and Cassandra’s account of their efforts in the Hinterlands, allowing Romulus to provide visual stimulus with his memories of what happened. It took them over an hour, and Lupa wished she had a water skin when they were done.

They moved on from there to discuss the information Mother Giselle had provided regarding the Chantry, with Josephine agreeing that it would be best to send Lupa to speak with them in Val Royeaux.

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen almost spat at Josephine, and Lupa was surprised by his reaction.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong: at the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion,” Josephine explained calmly.

“And we should just ignore the danger to the Herald?” Cullen asked incredulously, throwing his hand up and walking away from the Ambassador, rubbing the back of his neck aggressively; Lupa felt her skin flushing pink at his concern.

“Let’s ask her,” Josephine replied evenly, turning to face Lupa.

She had to admit that facing down the last remaining key members of the Chantry was not something she was excited to do. Romulus growled quietly beside her before she spoke. “You want me to walk into a pit of vipers, and you ask me that?” It came out more aggressively than she had wanted, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“They are not vipers just because they like to hiss,” Josephine answered peacefully.

“I will go with them,” Cassandra offered, nodding to Lupa and Romulus, though she didn’t make it sound like it was up for contest. Then she turned to Leliana. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

“But why?” Leliana protested, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “This is nothing but a-”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra cut her off, her words almost a plea. “Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

“I will send word right away, Seeker,” Josephine told them. “In the meantime, take what time you have to relax. There is no reason to believe they will make this easy for us.”

“We will. Is there anything else?” Cassandra asked firmly.

“Actually, there is,” Cullen spoke up, turning his attention to Lupa. “I spoke with Horsemaster Dennett this morning, and he had some interesting leads on different exotic mounts. He believes we could obtain them for you if he were willing to expend the resources.”

“Is this truly worth the effort?” Cassandra asked, not unkindly.

“There may be something to be gained for the Herald having a special mount. I think it would be an excellent idea,” Josephine agreed with a nod and a scribble on her writing pad.

“I will see to it for you, Herald,” Cullen offered.

“Thank you, Commander,” Lupa smiled at him. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” he smiled back, “it is.”

“Then let us get to work,” Leliana suggested, and they began to file out of the War Room.

Lupa was going to offer to help Cullen train his troops against mages, but a runner was waiting for her outside the War Room.

“Lady Herald!” the young girl exclaimed with a bow. “Master Harritt requests your presence as soon as possible, Your Worship. He asks that you bring your companion along.”

“What is your name?” Lupa asked.

“Marie, Your Worship.”

“Thank you, Marie. You may go back to what you were doing.”

She was happy to see the girl smile as she bowed again. “Herald,” she acknowledged assertively before straightening up and turning to exit the Chantry.

Lupa took a deep breath and looked down at Romulus. “Well? You think he’s done already?”

Romulus laughed, and they set off for the smithy.

 

*                             *                             *

 

It turned out Harritt wasn’t done, but he had completed Romulus’ headpiece, and wanted to check that it fit properly. It didn’t take long, and they left just as the lunch bell sounded.

Lina met Solas, but they decided to sit across from Cullen that day at lunch, offering their services to him and his recruits’ training while they were waiting on a response from the Chantry.

Cullen’s response, of course, was enthusiastic.

He was grateful for a number of reasons, most importantly being that he would be spending almost all day in her company.

He was almost sure that she had figured out his infatuation by now, but it seemed she didn’t mind, putting herself at his direction so they could slowly get to know each other better. He grew more impressed with each passing hour at her maturity and wisdom, with her fiery and mischievous behaviours as she tried to catch him off-guard. The soldiers were whispering now, not bothering to hide it, but Cullen decided he didn’t mind; there were worse things they could be saying, or conjuring up out of nothing for that matter, so he let it lie.

The one thing that made him a little uncomfortable was the constant presence of Solas. Cullen knew why he was always there with her during their training: he was chief barrier-caster during sparring lessons, but he also served to help Lina with her Chantry magics, as she was still neither confident nor accomplished with them. Cullen had no issue with the hedge mage, other than his closeness with Lina, and he admitted to himself one afternoon that he was a little envious of the other elf; but he was the only other elf here with enough authority to have her confidence, and Cullen was sure he was nothing more than a source of small comfort through virtue of shared race, despite their almost familial intimacy.

He brought it up over dinner a few days later, after Solas had stopped joining her for meals, leaving the two of them alone (or as alone as they could be in a hall full of people). She had laughed, a playful light in her eyes when she answered him.

“We are similar, Solas and I,” she told him. “We both are capable of shaping the Fade around us as we sleep.”

“You’re a somniari? _Both_ of you?” he asked in disbelief.

“No, our skills are learned, not inherent. Safer that way,” she explained. “He was strong enough to learn on his own growing up. My skill was taught to me.”

Cullen nodded, not needing to ask who had taught her. He was going to ask her about her Fade weaving skills when Leliana approached them, a nervous spring in her step.

“We need you both in the War Room, as soon as you’re done eating,” she instructed, and then she was gone, Cullen clearing the last few bites from his plate as quickly as he could.

Lina and Rom waited for him before leaving. “What do you think?” she asked him. “Word from Val Royeaux?”

“Most likely.”

She sighed quietly. “It’s about time. I want this to be done and over with.”

When they reached the door, he opened it for her, and was rewarded with the demure smile and flush he had been craving since before she left the first time, and it took more effort than he cared to admit to keep himself from grinning like the young boy he felt like.

Cassandra was the last to join them, her expression serious. “What is it? Have we received news?”

“We have,” Leliana confirmed.

“There will be a meeting with the Chantry clerics in Val Royeaux on the first of Bloomingtide,” Josephine informed them.

“That gives us just over a week to get there,” Cassandra said, her voice giving away her frustration. “Can we even make it in time?”

“If you go mounted, you most certainly can,” Leliana told her with a nod. “Especially now that we have horses bred for such purposes. If you leave in the morning, you should make it with a day to spare, I would estimate, allowing you to take your time, but you will need to make long days.”

“That can be done, I’m sure,” Cassandra agreed.

“I spoke to the Horsemaster on my way to fetch you all, and it seems one of your special mounts has arrived, Herald,” Leliana continued. “It’s a beautiful creature, and I think it’s a perfect fit for you. You should go see it before you retire for the night.”

Lina’s face lit up at the information. “Thank you, Leliana, I can’t wait.”

Her reaction earned a small smile from both Cullen and the Spymaster.

“Is there anything else? I’d like to make sure all my gear is in order and alert the others to be prepared for the morning,” Cassandra asked.

“That will be all,” Leliana confirmed once again.

“Good night, everyone,” Lina said quietly as Cassandra nodded to each of them in turn. “We’ll see you in about a fortnight.”

“Sleep well, Herald,” Josephine replied.

Cullen didn’t say anything, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his stomach that she was leaving again, that he had another two weeks to go without knowing if she was safe, and praying silently to the Maker that it wasn’t written all over his face.

She smiled at him as she went to close the door behind her, and he tried to smile back, hearing Romulus laugh quietly from the other side. When the latch clicked closed, he heaved a heavy sigh.

“She’ll be fine, Commander,” Josephine was saying, trying to comfort him. “I know you don’t like this, but it’s something that has to be done.”

“I think you of all people know just how crafty she can be,” Leliana said from across the room, and he groaned audibly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, feeling his face going red.

He saw Josephine hiding a grin with her quill, and he gathered himself up to leave. “Good night, ladies.”

“Good night, Commander,” Leliana managed through her giggling, and then he was closing the door behind him and leaving the Chantry, hoping for one more talk with Lina before she left.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Ah, Inquisition. Good to see you. The Spymaster sent you?” Dennett asked.

“She did,” Lupa confirmed.

“She’s a real beaut,” he told her. “Last stall on the left. Can’t miss her.”

“Thank you Horsemaster.”

“Make sure you close the doors behind you when you leave,” he instructed.

“Of course.”

Lupa and Romulus moved down the aisle to the very end, stopping short as they came into sight of her new charge.

She had of course seen harts before, but only in the Fade; they were all wild now, and very difficult to find. No Clan had kept one since the Second March.

Yet here was a stunning Red Hart, and it was _hers_.

It was calm, but she didn’t directly approach it, instead letting her aura go a bit to envelop it, trying to convey welcoming, safe feelings to it.

She was surprised to feel a touch of its own contentment, and decided to reach out to it.

She stayed with it far longer than she had intended to, stroking along the side of its face, down its flanks, along its sides, all the while listening to its unhurried thoughts and sensations as she did Romulus. She experimented with communicating with it to learn the most efficient way, and tried to think of a name.

She heard the stable door open a few minutes later, and turned to see the Commander walking quietly down the aisle towards her, stopping briefly to feed a pilfered apple to a stunning palomino that must have been his own mount.

“I wanted to come see the new addition to our stables,” he said to her as he reached the end of the row, his eyes going wide when he took in the sight of it. “This must be the hart Dennett told me about.”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Lupa gushed. “I’ll be the first elf since the Second March to be known to befriend one.”

“You just get more impressive by the day,” he chuckled, and Lupa felt her face going red.

“I can’t think of a name for her,” Lupa admitted, hoping the Commander could help her.

“That’s the hardest part,” he told her, a smirk twisting the scar on his lip.

They stood quietly for another few minutes before Lupa broke their silence. “Maybe I’ll sleep on it.”

Cullen nodded. “Listen, Li-Capitoline,” he stopped, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, and Lupa turned herself to face him, giving him her full attention. He breathed a short sigh before he finally continued. “I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.”

“I know you don’t,” she told him. “I don’t either, and I’m the one that has to stand up to them. But I’ll have Cassandra and Romulus with me, and Varric and Solas. Nothing is going to happen that I can’t handle.”

“Just…” Cullen paused, turning his face away from her as he reached up to massage the back of his neck. “Come home in one piece, okay?”

This time it was Lupa reaching up to grab Cullen’s chin, turning him to look at her, his stubble scratching her fingers. He dropped his hand back to his side. “It’s all going to be okay,” she told him firmly, before letting him go.

He just nodded, turning away from her again. “I should try to get some sleep,” he mumbled, and she let him go, calling a goodnight after him, watching until he shut the stable doors behind him.

Lupa turned back to the Hart, and a sudden idea struck her. “How do you feel about… Ellana?”

Lupa smiled when the Hart agreed, and she stroked its face one more time before promising an apple in the morning and leaving the stable with Romulus to get what rest she could.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen always had nightmares, ever since Kinloch Hold, since Uldred had turned almost the entire tower into abominations and killed most of his friends and comrades.

Tonight was no different.

He had done everything he could to put those events behind him, but it seemed the nightmares would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was back in the Tower, staring at her body, lying spread eagle on the floor, her spirit in the Fade; Solona had been so talented, but she had taken too long, and Knight-Commander Gregoir was standing beside him, speaking words in his ear that he still dreaded.

“She is gone, Knight Templar. You know what you must do.”

But Cullen knew what would happen when he stabbed her; he had been down this road before.

The look on Gregoir’s face as Cullen thrust his sword into the man’s gut was scathing, but Cullen payed it no mind, turning on First Enchanter Irving instead and slicing across his throat.

Both men blew away to nothing, like desert sands in the wind, and Solona started to stand, her eyes glowing a bright purple instead of their usual soft brown.

She tutted at him. “Such a shame. We hadn’t danced to this tune for such a long time, I had almost hoped you’d forgotten.”

Cullen glared at the demon in front of him, holding his sword higher as she advanced, robes stripping away to reveal _everything_ , every sacred inch of the first woman he had ever loved, the one he had put his sword through. “You still think you can win this fight, Knight _Captain_? Without your precious lyrium, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

“Is that so?” came a painfully familiar voice to Cullen’s left, and he did _not_ appreciate the intrusion.

She had never been a part of these nightmares before, even after- No, it must not be her, there was _no way…_ She was too perfect the way she stood there, even her signature was flawless as it filled the room, right down to the curious and deadly emotions swirling through it, just as he suspected she would be in a situation like this. He fell to his knees, the end of his sword scraping along the floor, sending up sparks; _this_ is what would break him. “Maker, no… Not Lina, not her, please…”

“What’s this, then?” the Desire was saying, turning her attention from him to the elf leaning on the bannister across the room. Desire regarded her for a moment before turning back to Cullen. “Oh how _perfect_ ,” she purred. “I was starting to get positively _bored_ with this one, my dear Templar.”

She was hazy, shifting, and then there were two Linas with him, the first still leaning against the bannister, wearing the same Dalish outfit she always preferred, and the second-

Desire was running her hands down her sides, tracing the outline of her new figure, before reaching up and grabbing at her new, considerably smaller breasts.

Cullen didn’t want to stare, but he couldn’t help it; her body was so petite and fragile, but her hips really were quite wide, her figure mesmerizing and almost entirely hairless. That on its own was unusual enough to him, but her tattoos-

He remembered her telling him they were _particularly busy_ , but this Desire could only conjure what she could see: her face and neck were covered, extending downward only to the tops of her breasts; on her hands, extending upwards towards her elbows; and on her feet, reaching upwards only to her knees.

The other Lina, the one still in clothes, was straightening up and walking toward them slowly, a dangerous sounding laugh building low in her chest.

“You aren’t a very bright one, are you, Desire?” she was saying, and the edge in her voice would have made his knees weak if he had been standing.

“Still here, are you?” Desire spat at her, glaring.

“I am,” the clothed Lina said with so much authority even the Desire started to back down. “You happen to have made a very bad move, messing with _my_ Commander. This,” she gestured outwards in a wide fan, a bright green spark flashing in her palm, “happens to be _my_ domain, Desire: both in dreams, and in the flesh.” She reached out toward the demon in front of her, left palm flaring again, and Desire screamed. It was _her_ voice, her pain, and it tore through Cullen so brutally, it took everything in him not to cover his ears as he had all those years ago in his cage, instead tightening his grip on his sword.

The clothed Lina made another gesture, and the screaming stopped, leaving a ringing silence instead. Cullen was opening his eyes, not even aware that he had closed them, and saw her leaning in to Desire, who was scrambling to put space between them. “Besides, you can’t even do me justice. A word of advice before I kill you? My vallaslin is _everywhere_.”

She gave the Desire a moment to let her words sink in again before she reached out, and Desire was blasted apart in a shower of ichor and sickly blighted flesh, spraying out across the wall in front of him.

Cullen was shaking: this was too real, his nightmares had _never_ been this real, and he started to skitter backwards on his hands and feet as the other Lina began to approach him.

She stopped when she saw him moving, and he both saw and felt her pain as it etched into every line and shape of her being. “Cullen?” she asked quietly, and her voice sounded soft, comforting, welcoming, not demon-touched like it should. “I could feel your pain, it was so strong, I came to make sure you were okay…”

He was muttering under his breath again, trying to bring himself back under control, praying desperately. “ _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter; Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just-_ Andraste, no, not Lina, I can’t-”

“Cullen,” she repeated, and this time her voice was firm, and he watched as the scenery shifted around him, until he was sitting under the pine tree on the little islet in the pond, surrounded by her roses.

He was starting to calm down, and he remembered their conversation over dinner; how had he already forgotten? _We both are capable of shaping the Fade around us as we sleep._

“Lina?” he asked, his voice quiet and pained. “Is it actually you?”

She was smiling at him warmly. “Yes, it is, though I have no other way of proving it to you here. What was that? Are those kinds of night terrors common?”

“Unfortunately,” he admitted, his voice small.

“Well, that Desire is gone for good, I promise. Hopefully you’ll be able to get a few good nights of sleep before another one finds you.”

He had nothing to say to that, and he looked at his hands around the pommel of the sword in front of him, shame building in his chest until he couldn’t bear it.

“I will make sure nothing else bothers you tonight, and I will prove to you in the morning that it really is me,” she promised.

She was gone before he could respond, and he slipped easily into the first uninterrupted sleep he’d had in many long years.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen had no idea how long he had been asleep for when he woke to a light tapping on his door.

He sat bolt upright, astounded by how rested he felt, and saw that the sun was just beginning to rise.

“Who is it?” he called as he threw his legs over the side of his bed, reaching for his pants and a clean shirt, voice low and groggy with sleep.

He was sure his heart stopped when he heard her voice. “It’s Lina.”

That was it, it was exactly what he needed to hear, and he was sure she knew it; he had been very careful not to call her by his nickname for her out loud before, and here she was, referring to herself by it.

He waited until his pants were securely in place, pulling his shirt over his head before crossing the room and opening the door to let her in.

She looked just as stunning and deadly as she had when he saw her in the Fade, wearing simple light armour with her staff across her back this morning, and he remembered she would be leaving very shortly for the Orlesian capitol. She brushed past him, and he closed the door behind her, leaving it open a crack so anyone else who might be up wouldn’t get any ideas.

She looked back when she didn’t hear it latch, and pushed it the rest of the way closed herself before turning to look up at him. “Sleep well?” she asked, and he cringed.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice small as it had been in his dream, and flinched when her hand found his bicep, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“For what? It’s not like many people go asking for a Desire to torture them. And don’t worry; I meant it when I said she didn’t do me any justice. You saw nothing accurate, and even if you did, I wouldn’t care; I’ve not exactly been raised to be uncomfortable with others seeing me in nothing but my skin. Dalish thing, remember?”

“Still, it was a violation-”

“Of nothing,” she cut him off firmly, taking her hand off his arm. “I honestly don’t know what I need to do to help you feel better about this, Cullen, but I promised I would prove to you it was truly me that came to you, and here I am.” Her words were not unkind, but sad, almost pleading, as if she was desperate to see him in less discomfort.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted defeatedly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

She was quiet a minute before he heard her sigh quietly. “The others will be waiting on me. I’d like to stay, but… would you like me to visit again while we’re on the road? Would it help?”

“If only so I can know you’re safe,” he told her, his voice strengthening.

“Then I will, for a few moments every night.” She reached for the door handle, and gave him a warm smile as she crossed the threshold again. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” she almost whispered, and then she was gone, the door latching behind her.

Cullen leaned on it, turning back to look at his desk-

Her wolf pendant was sitting on a stack of reports he had neglected to go through the night before, rubies glittering in the scarce early morning light, and Cullen sank to the floor, feeling tears stinging his eyes, more ashamed and disgusted with himself than he had been in many long years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to happen, guys. There's no way Fen'Harel has taught her to maipulate the Fade, and she doesn't stumble in on one of his nightmares.
> 
> They're getting along so nicely!
> 
> Also a shameless plug for my default Warden. Sorry about that.


	10. And There, He Dwelled; Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adorable awkward Cullen is adorable.
> 
> Super confident sexy Cullen is sexy.

Lina and the others were gone for almost three weeks.

Every night, Cullen went to bed and ended up in blissful _sleep_ , uninterrupted by the demons and nightmares of his past, and though he never actually saw her, he woke every morning they were away knowing with undeniable certainty that she was fine.

He knew it would only be a matter of time before the nightmares returned, but he would never be able to thank her enough for what rest he had now.

Leliana and Josephine had noticed, and were asking him constantly about it, teasing him when he wouldn’t give them concrete answers; but Leliana was too smart for her own good, and of course that meant Josephine knew by extension.

A bird arrived a few days ahead of the group, warning them that Lina and company had grown by two while they were in Val Royeaux. Cullen was anxious to see who they had brought back with them, but he was more interested in just seeing her, and wondered frequently how much longer he would have to wait.

They arrived about an hour before dinner four days after the bird had arrived, bringing with them a Court Enchanter and an elven rogue, the latter of which was complaining loudly in a distinctly Fereldan accent about the smell of the horses.

Cullen did run to greet them this time, sending a runner to let Josephine and Leliana know they had returned. Lina looked so regal on her hart, and he noticed she had forgone a saddle; she seemed far more comfortable for it, and when he held out a hand to help her down again, she slid off its back like she had done it every day of her life.

“Hello, Commander,” she greeted him brightly.

“Herald,” he nodded, letting her hand go. “All went well?”

“I believe Cassandra wants to meet after dinner,” she told him. “We need to take care of the charges, but I’ll find you afterwards.”

“Of course.”

She smiled warmly before putting a hand on her hart’s flank, leading it back into the stable.

He had found his usual place at dinner before he saw her again, sliding into the seat next to him instead of her own usual place across from him.

“How have things been while we were away? Anything important?”

“Well, the mages and former Templars almost started a war over who killed the Divine, but I managed to break them up before it got out of hand,” he told her, breathing a heavy sigh. “Then Chancellor Roderick stuck his nose in and I had to listen to his vitriol for an entire afternoon. Other than that, things have been running smoothly.”

“You look to be considerably better rested,” she said to him quietly.

“I can never thank you enough for that,” he admitted, voice low.

“Are you feeling better about it?”

“Yes,” he responded honestly. “Though I’m still sorry you had to see me in such a state.”

She giggled lightly, her face beginning to colour pink. “What’s one more embarrassing secret between friends?”

He laughed openly, feeling lighter than he had since before she left, and they finished their dinner in silence, enjoying each others’ company.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week straight, but his Wolf Sister had asked him to stay with her for their after-dinner meeting, so he was sitting next to where she stood at the Table, telling the others about the spectacle they had witnessed in the Big City.

The Fortress wasn’t taking the news well. He could smell the man’s hurt, anger, betrayal, but there was nothing anyone could do for him. His reaction had Romulus paying attention to the conversation more closely than before.

“What are they thinking? What is going _on_?”

“I do not like it either, Commander,” the Storm was admitting, “but it is the truth of it. I had hoped we could go find out what’s going on, but we also need to go speak to the mages before we make any decisions. It is only fair.”

It had been his Wolf Sister that made the Storm realize this, but she was quiet now, watching the way the others were reacting to the information.

“We still aren’t sure where the Templars have gone,” Leliana was saying now. “It should give you plenty of time to make it to Redcliffe and see what the mages have to say for themselves.”

“Good. Give us a day to prepare, and we will be on our way.”

“May I ask why we’ve been ignoring messengers coming in?” his Wolf Sister asked, honest curiosity in her voice. “I ran into a young man on my way in to dinner, a member of the Bull’s Chargers, offering their help if I was willing to meet them on the Storm Coast. He said no one would listen to his message.”

“He ran into one of my scouts this morning, and we decided to keep an eye on the young man before making any promises. I had wanted to check some of their references first,” the Crow Mother admitted.

“The Bull’s Chargers?” the one they called Ambassador asked. “Why didn’t you say so, Leliana? They have an excellent reputation all over Orlais. I say you go meet with them, Herald. I will take care of matters of payment.”

“Thank you,” his Lupa answered, and a few minutes later they were all filing out of the War Room.

“Herald? May I borrow you for another few moments? I promise we won’t be long,” the Crow Mother asked, and Lupa turned back into the Room, telling him to go rest.

Romulus made his way back to their cottage alone, but he kept himself awake until she returned, wondering what the Crow Mother had wanted.

_Apparently there’s a Grey Warden in the Hinterlands she wants me to speak to while we’re there, recruit him if we can. She’s worried about their lack of visibility._

It was something Romulus didn’t particularly care about, and so he let them fall quiet, finally drifting off to sleep as his Wolf Sister slipped into a bath.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa sat enjoying her bath for a long time, wondering how she had never thought of heating water before she left her Clan.

It was such a simple thing, really, but she’d had to steal a book in the middle of the night from another mage to learn how to do it, careful to put it back exactly where she’d found it once she was done.

She finally got up after about an hour, standing in front of the fire until her skin was dry and grabbing some of the looser shemlen clothes she preferred to sleep in before sitting on the floor to begin drying her hair.

She was about halfway through when she heard snow crunching outside and a gentle knock on her door. She got to her feet slowly, crossing the floor in a few lengthy strides and opening her door a crack, throwing it wide when she saw who was standing on her step.

“Cullen!” she said, her surprise evident. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to thank you for your help,” he admitted quietly, pulling his hands out in front of him, holding a bottle of Antivan red and two glasses, “and I heard you happen to be a fan of Antivan wine.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she answered, feeling the blush creeping up her neck as he took in her unusual appearance, wishing she could see if his eyes had gone dark, instead reaching out for the bottle and glasses so she could set them down and allow him inside.

He turned to walk away when she took them from him, his shoulders dropping just enough that she could see his defeat. “Where are you going?”

He stopped at the bottom of her step, turning back to look at her again; he raised an eyebrow at her question, but he didn’t say anything.

“Wolves doesn’t drink wine, and I see two glasses. You weren’t seriously going to leave me alone with an entire bottle, were you? Because I’m more than happy to share.”

He jumped back up the steps more enthusiastically than she was sure he intended, and she giggled at him, watching him reach up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment as she closed the door behind him. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she teased, and he smirked at her.

“No, I suppose not,” he admitted, finally letting his hand fall to his side as he grabbed the only chair in her room and pulled it up in front of the fire.

Lupa sat on the edge of her bed, magically popping the top off the bottle and pouring them each a generous glass.

They clinked their glasses together lightly and both took a small sip, savouring the flavour. Cullen was reaching into a pocket, and Lupa watched as he fished out the pendant she had left for him while she had been away.

“I wanted to return this to you, as well,” he told her as he handed it back. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I imagine it means a lot to you.”

“If you insist,” she answered, reaching out to take it back from him, thrilling in the way their hands brushed together as her pendant changed hands. She took her mind off it by thinking back to their meeting and his reaction to the news about the Templars. “I’m sorry about what happened in Val Royeuax.”

He sighed, staring at the glass in his hands. “Me, too. They can’t all have lost their minds, but it certainly looks like it.”

“Would you be willing to share more about the Templars? I know so little, and I’d like to learn more.”

“It’s the least I can do after your elven history lessons,” he chuckled quietly. “Where would you like to start?”

Lupa was happy to see him responding better to her questioning, and took advantage, poking and prodding for every bit of information she could weasel out of him.

She had stopped him to refill their glasses at one point, and as she drained the last mouthful from her second, she decided to ask him a question she had purposely been holding off on, spurred on by the alcohol that was taking hold in her system.

“Do Templars take vows?” she asked. “‘I swear to the Maker to watch all mages’ – that sort of thing?”

“Well, there’s a vigil first,” he explained patiently, his face a little red from the wine. “You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter – your first draught of lyrium – and its power. As Templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.”

“You told me that already,” she giggled, and he smiled, but when he didn’t say anything, she prodded further. “A life of service and sacrifice… Are Templars also expected to give up their… _physical_ temptations?”

She watched his brow knit together as he tried to process what she was asking, fighting another giggle to keep it from rising up her throat. “Physical? Why…” he cleared his throat nervously. “Why would you…” He took a moment to visibly collect himself, trying to steer them back into safe territory. “That’s… not expected. Templars can marry, although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission…Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s um… not required.”

“Have you?” she asked, more boldly than she expected to.

“Me? I, um… no, I’ve taken no such vows…” Lupa watched his face turning red, this time having nothing to do with the wine. “Maker’s breath, can we speak about something else?”

She laughed openly then, but not unkindly, until a yawn stretched across her face. Lupa put her glass down to cover her mouth, and when she opened her eyes again, Cullen was standing, collecting their empty bottle and dirty glasses, smiling at her.

“Look at me, boring you to death,” he teased.

“You’ve done no such thing!” she told him, feigning insult. “It’s just been a very long day, and wine always makes me sleepy.”

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

She nodded, getting up to follow him to the door, and he turned around to face her again when he crossed the threshold onto her front step. “If I may be so bold, Herald,” he said to her quietly, voice low, sending a jolt through her, “I rather enjoyed this.”

“Me, too,” she admitted. “I think we’ll need to do this more often.”

“I would like that,” he told her, a small smile on his face. He surprised her by switching everything to his left hand, taking her right hand in his own, a pressing his lips lightly to the back of it before releasing her again, “Sleep well, Lina,” he almost whispered.

“You as well, Cullen,” she murmured, glad for the late hour so he couldn’t see the colour of her face.

He turned his back on her then, and she watched him until he was out of sight. When he was finally gone, she closed the door and crawled in to bed next to her snoring wolf, far too wound up now to sleep, and wishing desperately that she could have someone else take care of her needs instead.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa had planned on taking the following day to speak briefly with the Ambassador and the Spymaster about her upcoming trip before heading off to the training grounds to help Cullen with his recruits and test Romulus’ new armour.

Instead, it turned out to be a terrible day, and she ended up spending it avoiding the Commander at all costs.

He had slept through breakfast, which was a rare occurrence; she assumed the wine from the night before had helped him sleep, and decided not to bother him, instead joining Solas again at their old corner table. They took their time eating before she set off with Romulus to meet with Josephine.

All morning, Lupa kept replaying their farewell from the night before in their mind, remembering the feel of his heavily calloused hand grasping hers so delicately, yet dwarfing her own easily; his soft lips and rough chin against the back of her hand as he pressed a kiss to it lightly, almost reverently; his low voice and confident smirk as he wished her goodnight like they were the only two people left in Thedas.

She stopped short when she got to Josephine’s office.

Her door was wide open, and it seemed she was greeting a guest, who had taken Josephine’s hand in his own and was pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

Just as Cullen had done the night before.

The fact that there was nothing romantic in the gesture this time was entirely lost on Lupa, who had never known it to be common among humans. Was it truly that common a gesture that a man the Ambassador had likely never met before would use it as a way of saying hello? Was there truly any intention behind it when Cullen had done it for her, or was it simply a matter of courtesy? Did she honestly think he was the only one in the world who would ever do such a bizarre and endearing thing? Had she completely over-thought the entire ordeal, or their entire night, for that matter? 

Her earlier, happier train of thought had crashed and was burning spectacularly by the time Josephine was finished greeting their guest, and had turned her attention back to the pale elf standing in her doorway.

Lupa took her mind off of her heartbreak by taking her time speaking with the Ambassador, gaining as much information as she possibly could use for her meeting with the mages in the days to come.

She left Josephine alone after several hours, going straight to Leliana’s tent instead, where she immediately had to interfere with the Spymaster’s plan to have one of their old agents killed. In an effort to try and open the woman up again, Lupa decided to prod her for details about the Hero of Ferelden, and Leliana was happy to discuss her time during the Blight.

She listened to the Spymaster gush about Warden-Commander Brosca over lunch, and when Leliana finally bid her farewell to return to her work, Lupa and Romulus went to play fetch.

The intention was for them to get some exercise, and for Romulus to test the flexibility of his new armour, even if they had to do it on their own. It just so happened that Romulus loved both running and chasing things.

She admired his new scale as they walked, heading out into one of the empty nearby valleys so they would have less chance of being interrupted or stumbled upon. The smith had done an excellent job: much of his body was enclosed in hard plate, with a layer of scale on the outside, designed to look like chunks of fur; his legs and tail were covered in the same scale pattern, but without the plate underneath, attached instead to loose chain, giving him more flexibility; his headpiece was crafted to look like a snarling wolf, including two extra pairs of eyes, which had been painted on to match hers, and long sharp fangs in the jaw, sitting easily within each other, out of harm’s way, but giving him extra biting strength.

_How does the jaw stay closed?_

He wasn’t sure, but suggested it may have a spring attached to the joints, as opening his mouth and keeping it open was far more difficult to do with his headpiece on, though not impossible.

_Smart man, that blacksmith._

Romulus agreed.

She found an old dead tree branch, magically reshaping it into a ball, and they began their training.

They turned back when they hear the loud bell signalling dinner distantly, and managed to catch the tail end of the food service. Lupa noticed that Cullen was already gone, and sat with Solas and Varric instead, glad to have such distracting company.

When they got up to leave, Lupa and Romulus returned to their cottage to get Romulus out of his armour and make sure everything was ready to go for the morning. When they were done, Romulus promptly curled up and started snoring, leaving Lupa alone to her thoughts.

She knew she should be turning in for the night, getting as much rest as possible, but she had an itch to find some company, and decided to head to the tavern.

Lupa spoke to their new rogue, Sera, briefly before Varric showed up, taking a seat with them and buying a round of drinks. Sera left shortly after Varric joined them, and Lupa stayed up later than she intended talking to the dwarf.

“So how do you Dalish elves spend your free time?” he asked her at one point.

“Well, I couldn’t say how other Clans spend theirs, but our traders once brought home a half dozen decks of cards and a book full of different games and their rules, which became their favourite pastime,” she told him. “I had a… good friend who was one of our traders, and he knew I preferred to learn, so I always had a history book or a puzzle to keep me occupied. I also slept a lot.”

“Well, we’re going to have to change that, Wolfy,” Varric told her. “Not the ‘learning and puzzles’ thing, but the ‘not playing card games’ thing. When we get back, I’m teaching you how to play Wicked Grace. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed immediately, happy for the chance to get to know the dwarf better. They had become fast friends fairly quickly, but there was still so much more to him that she wanted to know.

They finished their drinks and left together, Varric walking with her to her cottage protectively. She knew the sentiment was different when he did it, like a big brother looking out for his precious baby sister. She had to admit that she didn’t mind it at all.

“Varric…” she started, before realizing how stupid her question might sound, and abandoning it.

“You going to just leave me hanging, Wolfy?”

“It was a stupid thing,” she told him.

“I’m a fan of stupid things,” he encouraged her. “You seemed pretty down today. Everything alright?”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, genuinely curious. She knew the dwarf was more observant than many gave him credit for, but she wondered just where he was going.

“Well, Curly seemed to be trying to catch a glimpse of you all day, but _you_ seem to be avoiding him like he’s contracted a plague,” he told her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

Lupa sighed, looking at her hands. Varric, of course, must have read everything between them. “Well, it’s not easy to explain…”

“Try me.”

“Well, he…” Lupa sighed again, face going red. “He came by last night for a bit, with a bottle of… That was you, wasn’t it? That told him I like Antivan reds?”

“Me? Tell Curly what kind of wine you like? Why would you ever think I would do such a thing?” Varric teased her, and she grinned tightly, giving him a light punch him in the shoulder.

“Anyway, he brought a bottle, and a couple glasses. We drank the whole thing, and when he left, he…” She was wringing her hands; she felt like even saying it was like sharing something infinitely more intimate.

“Spit it out, Wolfy, I’m dying here!” he teased again.

Lupa giggled nervously. “He took my hand. Like this,” and she reached out to Varric’s, like Cullen had done to her, “and then he… kissed the back of it.”

“At least it’s progress,” Varric muttered before raising his voice again. “And just what’s so bad about that? The fact that you just squirmed like a ticklish child to have to admit it makes me think this was a good thing?”

“Well, I thought it was, but… I went to go see Josie this afternoon, and a noble did the same to her. I know I’m not good at reading a lot of the more common gestures, but…”

“Can I try something, Lupa?”

“Of course,” she told him immediately. She loved the way Varric gave everyone nicknames, but she also loved how he had gone to calling her by her actual name when he was being really serious.

She watched as he grabbed her hand, pressing his lips to it just as Cullen had, before dropping it, allowing her to bring it back to her side comfortably.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you feel like your pants are about to burn off in unbridled passion from me kissing your hand?”

She laughed loudly. “I feel no different than I did a moment ago,” she admitted.

"I'm hurt," he said, making puppy dog eyes at her until she laughed again, and then he smiled warmly. “Us ‘Chantry folk’ have a lot of gestures that can be either very intimate or bafflingly chaste. Hand kissing is one of them,” he told her. “Usually you can tell when someone does it with romantic intent, just like you can tell when they’re doing it without any. Nobles are quite fond of using it as a flattery technique.”

She was quiet a moment, not trusting herself to speak as she realized what he was telling her. She must have made a face, because Varric chuckled. “Now she gets it,” he teased her again.

“Varric, I can’t thank you enough for this,” she told him breathlessly, he relief so strong she could almost see it in the air between them. “Where would I be without you?”

“Well, you seemed to do okay for the first couple decades of your life…”

She punched him playfully again. “Go get some sleep,” she told him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t stay up too late!” he called after her.

She was crawling into bed only a few minutes later, feeling guilty for having avoided Cullen all day, but happy to finally have the answer she needed.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen was the first one to the stables the next morning.

He decided to make himself useful while he waited, saddling and tacking his palomino before moving on to help the stablehands with Varric and Solas’ respective mounts.

Cassandra joined them before they could get to hers.

“Good morning, Commander,” she said to him, her hands already busy. “May I ask why you’re here?”

“Well, I was up, and thought Mia here could use a good stretch,” he told her, hoping his answer wasn’t as transparent as it felt.

Apparently it was, because he saw the corner of her mouth stretch up a fraction before she responded. “Is that so? We’d be happy to have you along for part of the ride, Commander.”

Varric was next in, followed moments later by Solas, Lina, and Romulus, who looked even more intimidating than usual in the heavy plate and scale Harritt had made for him.

“Good morning, Commander,” Solas said with a small smile.

“And you.”

“Decided to tag along for a bit, Curly?”

“Well, I was just going to give the old girl here a bit of a stretch, but Cassandra invited me to share the road for a short way,” he explained again, patting his mare's flank fondly, grateful that Cassandra had given him a stronger excuse.

“Well, we’d be happy to have you along, Commander,” Lina said with a warm smile, placing an apple in his hand before continuing down the row to her hart.

“Some of us more than others,” Varric muttered, and Romulus laughed.

They were on their way less than half an hour later, setting their pace at a comfortable walk. Cullen took his time getting seated properly, allowing the others to pass ahead; even Romulus started on with the others, taking up a place at Solas’ side.

“You alright?” Lina asked, having stayed behind with him.

“Just getting comfortable,” he assured her, and then they were walking, keeping the others in sight ahead, but far enough back that they could speak quietly without fear of being overheard.

“How long do you estimate you’ll be this time?” he asked her.

“Three weeks at best,” she answered. “We’ll be starting in the Storm Coast before heading back south for Redcliffe. And three weeks is only if everything goes exactly according to plan.”

“So likely longer,” he finished for her with a sigh.

“Unfortunately,” she admitted.

They rode in silence then for a while, and Cullen was fascinated by how harmonious her and her steed seemed to be; her aura was held around her more loosely than usual, and he realized after a short time that she was using it to communicate to her hart.

Something prompted her to speak, and she was telling him about her childhood, travelling with the Clan, how staying in one place seemed like such a foreign idea to her; anything and everything that seemed to bring back happy memories of her family.

He obliged by sharing a few details of his own childhood before he left for Templar training, and found it surprisingly easy to tell her about it, even when she was questioning him about every little detail of everything, desperate to understand.

“You said you were in Kinloch Hold during the Blight?”

“I was,” he said, “but no one who survived that time has good memories of it. I… would rather not speak about it,” he said quietly.

She nodded, letting it go, but he could see her putting the pieces together, remembering the nightmare she had pulled herself in to before the last time she left on Inquisition business.

Instead, he told her about the happy moments of Circle life, of his first few years there, before Kinloch Hold had become host to abominations and random slaughter; taking the time to enjoy her company, to devour her laughter, to revel in her presence.

He stopped when the sun had risen high in the sky above them.

“Time to turn back?” she asked, stopping just ahead of him, turning her hart around so she could face him. She looked disappointed. 

“I should, I think,” he admitted, “though I’d rather just go with you.”

“I’ll keep you posted, just like last time,” she promised.

“Thank you,” he answered, his relief evident.

He didn’t know what else to say to her, and it seemed she was having the same problem, staring at a spot between her hart’s antlers before clearing her throat quietly. “Well… I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, at best.”

“I’ll be here when you return,” he promised her with a smile.

She turned her hart and began to walk again, smiling over her shoulder at him for a moment before spurring her hart into a trot to catch up, a wild cry escaping it when it was allowed to break into a run, and he watched them go for a couple of minutes before turning his palomino around with a sigh and a sinking heart, urging her into a gallop, carrying them both back to the tiny village he now called home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONFESSION: I know next to nothing about horses, except that a palomino is a breed/colouring, and I used it because I know nothing else. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I'm horsing wrong. 
> 
> Varric is the best friend.


	11. Wicked Grace: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW: descriptions of not-quite nudity, and a masturbation warning. 
> 
> Full Lupa POV chapter!

Five and a half weeks.

That was how long it took for them to take care of everything and return home again.

Lupa was sick of being on the road all the time, and wanted nothing more than to go back to Haven and take at least a few days to rest. She wanted to talk to the pilgrims, hang out in the tavern, help the soldiers with their training.

She wanted to see Cullen again.

There was something about his constant presence that kept her overwhelming guilt at bay, and after being gone so long, she was starting to feel the effects of her withdrawal.

She was realizing exactly how strong her affections were turning, and it made her almost physically ill one night when Owain suddenly wove through her thoughts, and she found she couldn’t quite remember him properly: she knew his hair was straight, but now it was wavy, almost curly; she was sure his eyes were grey, but now they were coloured like honey; and he was an _elf_ , elves can’t grow beards, so why did he have a shadow of stubble? And then his hair would turn blonde, and his vallaslin would disappear, and he would get little lines in the corners of his eyes; he would change, until he wasn’t Owain any longer, and she was seeing the Commander instead.

It reminded her of how broken she was, of how broken _he_ was, and every day she told herself she needed to stop stringing him along, both so she could heal, and because he deserved better: better than a woman who would likely be dead before this was all over; better than a mage who could be possessed at any time, bringing his worst nightmares back to life as he would be forced to take her down himself; better than an elf with a dead lover she couldn’t seem to forget about.

She fought with Romulus one night, her voice hysterical, when he told her it seemed like she was going through a separation from Owain, as if she were falling out of love with him. She had screamed and cried, scaring the others, lashing out at Solas when he agreed with Rom, and finally having to explain herself properly to the others. She felt even worse when she woke up the next morning, but they acted like nothing had happened, and she was happy to leave it that way, instead trying to make her apology in small ways: offering to hunt for the next night’s dinner, keeping the fire, warming the river they were using for bathing.

When she took the time to think about it, Romulus was right: she was breaking up with her dead partner. But she had never gone through something like this, didn’t know what to expect, and it felt worse than anything she’d ever experienced before; even her mother’s death hadn’t hit her so hard. So she threw herself into the tasks at hand, trying to take her mind off of the two warring men in her life that she couldn’t seem to reconcile.

They headed first to the Storm Coast, which took just over a week, where they met with the Bull’s Chargers. Lupa could tell that her and The Iron Bull would end up being good friends, but she wanted to have Cassandra with her for the trip to Redcliffe, so she sent the Qunari back to Haven with his mercenaries. They confirmed with Lead Scout Harding that all was well before heading south for the Hinterlands again.

That trip took less time than expected, only five days, and then they were in the Gull and Lantern, meeting a Tevinter Magister with a confused Grand Enchanter and realizing that things were far worse than originally expected. Meeting Dorian in the Chantry after the Magister’s son gave them his warning only added to their unease.

They received a bird from Leliana when they camped nearby that night, telling of information on the Storm Coast regarding recent Grey Warden passage, and that Scout Harding was reporting a patrol missing. Cassandra opted to return to Haven early, to inform the others of what was happening in Redcliffe, and Lupa asked her to send Bull back in her absence, before heading out to find Warden Blackwall.

They waited in the Hinterlands for an extra day, waiting for Bull, before turning back north to the Storm Coast to complete their work. They sent a message to Dorian in the meantime, telling him to keep them informed of the situation, and that they would let him know what their decision was and what to do from there.

By the time they turned their sights back towards Haven, Lupa was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to be at home, in her bed, doing absolutely nothing.

 

*                             *                             *

 

They returned early in the morning, after the town had fallen asleep; they had been close enough at the end of the day to keep moving, making only a small, temporary camp to fix dinner before continuing on to Haven.

They were all exhausted, and were grateful to have a roof over their heads and a soft bed beneath them that night.

Lupa was awake for breakfast, having had the luxury of sleeping on Ellana for the last stretch of the journey, and when she made it to the Chantry for her meal, she saw Cullen sitting alone with his back to her.

Her heart jumped, pulse racing at the sight of him, but she noticed he looked a little deflated as he leaned over his plate with his shoulders slumped forward.

He didn’t know she was home.

Lupa wasn’t quite sure how she did it, but she managed to sneak up behind him without anyone calling out to her and alerting him, and she leaned over his shoulder until her mouth was next to his ear.

“Good morning, Commander,” she murmured, voice low.

She had waited until both his mouth and his hands were empty, and it was a good thing; he jumped almost out of his chair and would have choked on his food. Cullen turned around to look at her, his entire face lighting up when he saw her standing behind him.

“L-Herald!” he finally managed, a wide smirk taking over his face as he gained some sense of composure, and she slid in to a seat next to him. “When did you get back? You were gone so long, I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to,” he teased.

She laughed quietly. “Early this morning, maybe only about four hours ago, actually,” she told him. “I got some sleep on the road. The others weren’t quite so lucky.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve returned, at any rate,” he admitted, his face starting to flush, and Lupa had never thought such a statement could feel as heavy as it just had.

“Me too,” she told him quietly.

She told him some of the details of her journey while they ate, and when they were done she went back to her cabin to take a long, hot bath.

Varric stopped her at lunch, reminding her that she needed to meet him in the tavern after dinner.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she told him.

“Good,” he replied, “because I’m seriously lacking for Wicked Grace partners, and I need to fix that desperately.”

She had laughed, finding Cullen as she usually did. They were halfway through lunch when an idea struck her.

“What are you doing after dinner?” she asked him suddenly.

“I didn’t have any plans, other than catching up on some reports, but I can push that back to tomorrow, there’s really no rush,” he answered. “Why?”

“Varric’s insisted he’s going to teach me to play Wicked Grace,” she explained, “and from what I understand, you need more than two people to play it properly. I think Solas said he was going to join us, too, but I thought you might want to come along.”

“Far be it from me to ignore a direct invitation from the Herald,” he told her with a smirk.

She beamed at him, excited to get to spend some down time with him again, before picking herself up from the table. “Wonderful. I’ll see you at dinner.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa went to dinner a little early, missing Cullen as she scarfed down her meal. A blizzard was starting outside, and she wanted to get back to her hut to layer before heading to the tavern.

She had never seen a blizzard before, so she didn’t know what to expect other than snow and cold, and it seemed the only thing she had been missing from her equation was howling wind, strong enough to almost sweep her tiny frame out from underneath her, blowing the loose snow on the ground into a frenzy with the freshly falling flakes. She decided one pair of pants would be fine, but opted for a sleeveless undershirt, a long sleeved cotton shirt she usually wore under her underarmour, which she also threw on, topped off with a knit sweater one of the pilgrims had given her in a light leafy green, and a deep burgundy scarf that she tied around her hair to keep her ears from freezing.

She even put on socks and shoes, not wanting her toes to freeze either.

By the time she finally made it back to the tavern, Solas was reaching the door, holding it open for her so she could slip inside.

It looked like almost everyone was packed into this one tiny building: Bull and his men were in one corner drinking together with Sera; Blackwall was by the bar, talking to a few of the soldiers who were questioning him about Wardens and whether he had ever met the Hero of Ferelden; even Leliana and Josephine were having a quiet but animated conversation in one corner by themselves.

Lupa spotted Varric at a table by himself in near the fire, and her and Solas had to push their way through soldiers to get to the dwarf. Many of the people they passed would stop to bow slightly to her, many invoking her title in greeting. When she found her seat at the table across from Varric, she heard them making a loud and rowdy toast to her.

She didn’t have a drink yet, or she would have joined them, instead feeling a sad smile stretching across her face.

Solas was giving her a questioning look. “They sound like Owain,” she told him, “the way they call me ‘Lady Herald.’”

He smiled sadly at her, turning back to Varric when they saw him pull a deck of cards from his pocket.

One of the servers had finally managed to reach them through the throng, and they all placed their order. When she was gone to get their drinks, Varric began to explain the rules.

It took her a while, but she thought she understood well enough to play.

“Best way to learn is just to put the knowledge to use,” he told her. “Keep your cards after every hand, and I’ll explain again who won and why.”

“Thank you,” she told him.

“I guess we can play with only three, but it would be better if we had at least one other person…” Varric said, looking around, spotting all the others from their inner circle who were still present; Blackwall had left shortly after they had arrived, but the others were still there-

An earsplitting cheer went up around them, and a few moments later, Cullen was slipping to the chair to her left, across from Solas. “Looks like you need a fourth person,” he said with a smirk.

Varric laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to show, Curly.”

They waited for their drinks to arrive before Varric dealt, and then they were in the thick of it. Lupa discovered that she was truly terrible at cards, or at least Wicked Grace: she played most hands and ended up losing all of her gambling money fairly quickly, but it seemed every time she folded, the cards played right that she could have won a good amount back.

Solas was dominating, taking even Varric by surprise. “Andraste’s tits, Solas, where are you hiding your cards?”

“I don’t need to hide cards anywhere, Child of the Stone,” he answered. “You are absolutely terrible at bluffing.”

That earned a laugh all around, and when Cullen lost his last few coins four hands later, Varric suggested they start gambling for clothing.

They were all drunk enough that this sounded like an excellent idea.

“One thing, first,” Varric told them. “It’s too busy in here right now. I wouldn’t worry so much about it, but the last thing we need is an overzealous soldier testing his luck with Her Holy Asskicker when she’s not in the best mind to defend herself, so we’re leaving at _least_ smalls in place. Got it?”

Lupa started to protest that she was still more than capable of immolating someone if they went too far, but Cullen spoke up before she could form the words, his tone protective almost to the point of aggressive. “I don’t think that should be an issue, given present company,” he nodded across the table to Solas, “but I think that would definitely be for the best.”

“Good. How you feeling, Wolfy?”

“I’m a little scared to lose my pants, actually,” she admitted.

“You’re never more alive than when you’re about to lose them. Trust me,” Varric told her with a laugh before dealing a new hand.

Lupa was two bottles of wine down now, and doing even worse than before, grateful for her crazy bundling earlier. She couldn’t help but notice the way Cullen would watch her almost possessively as she stripped away each layer, getting closer and closer to her bare skin, and she got a thrill from the way she was teasing him; she could see him going a little wild, trying to contain the lustful thoughts that were written all over his face.

Not that he wasn’t doing the same to her, the way he would reach down with one hand to rip a shirt over his head, and she found herself squeezing her thighs together more times than she cared to admit over the course of the night as she watched him.

She was finally down to her pants and sleeveless undershirt when Cullen lost a match and had to strip down to match her; his undershirt was long sleeved but skin tight, and left little to the imagination. She couldn’t help but stare at his chiseled arms out of the corner of her eyes, tracing the hard lines of them, wishing they were bare so she could count the scars she was sure she would find there-

Her attention was drawn back to the game by Solas folding before she got too far into her fantasies, and she looked at the cards in her hand. They had the potential to pay off, so she announced that she was in.

Just because they _could_ pay off, doesn’t mean they did; Cullen’s hand beat hers soundly, and now she was going to have to get rid of something else.

“Well, Curly, here’s the problem,” Varric spoke up with a sly grin. “The Dalish don’t really wear smalls.”

Cullen was frowning, turning away from her quickly to look at the dwarf across from her. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be leaving without them,” he stated darkly, his voice almost a growl.

“I did,” Varric agreed, “but if she didn’t come in _with_ them, then the rule doesn’t apply, does it?” She saw Cullen squeeze his eyes shut, and then Varric winked at her. She fought a giggle: the little dwarf was teasing their poor Commander on purpose, winding him up intentionally; the dwarf knew more than he was letting on. “So you have options, Curly. Either she loses the shirt, or the pants. What would you rather: bare chested and exposed, or no pants and hidden until she leaves?”

Now Cullen was staring at her, his expression tortured; he knew the rules and couldn’t break them now, or he’d be left in nothing himself (though she thought he was seriously considering the option, and she admitted she wouldn’t mind if he took it). They were all quiet, watching him for a minute, and then Lupa reached down to yank her shirt over her head, never taking her eyes off him as she tossed in against his chest, watching it fall lightly in his lap.

She saw his eyes go wide and dark in an instant, taking in a shallow, ragged breath, and then she looked down at herself teasingly before cocking her head at him. “Lucky for you, Commander,” she purred, “I’ve quite taken to these clothes you wear under your clothes.”

She was glad now that she had opted for one of the more racy Orlesian sets instead of the more modest Ferelden ones she had picked up in Redcliffe: it was soft cotton against her skin, but covered in fine lace, both a deep burgundy colour she had been told was all the rage among the nobles by the shopkeep, and even Cassandra had agreed that it was lovely.

He was drinking her in again, and she saw his eyes roaming over her, taking in every line of her vallaslin, following the swirl of them, and she wondered what he was thinking-

Bull whistled at her from across the room, and she felt a hand tugging on the cuff of her pants, pulling back to look under the table. Sera was there with a pint glass, and Lupa had no idea how she managed to end up under them without anyone noticing. “Shoulda got rid of these shite breeches,” she slurred. “I coulda made the rest of the game _real_ interesting for you.”

Lupa just laughed. “Thanks for the offer, Sera, but I’m doing badly enough as it is!”

“Piss on it, you’ll be waiting for _ever_ if you think Mister High and Mighty is gonna give you what you need.” She turned to look at him, a giggle bubbling up her throat. “Looks like he might be seriously considering it from here, though. Maybe you _will_ be able to air out your dusty ladybits after all.”

She looked up to find Cullen putting his face into his hands, so red it was reaching his ears, and everyone who could hear the elf was roaring, though the laughter was far from unkind. A couple of the nearby soldiers were clapping their poor, shamed Commander on the back, trying to give him some encouragement.

Solas was the first to regain himself, being far more sober (and clothed) than the rest of them, and raised his eyebrows at her. She smirked, her expression distinctly lupine, before throwing him a playful wink and demanding he deal again.

It was the first time she had won a hand since they lost all their money, and Cullen wasted no time in yanking off his undershirt, mimicking her by flinging it at her.

She could hear him apologizing as it hit her squarely in the face, the neck getting caught around the tip of one of her ears. She took her time untangling herself from it, taking a deep breath, dragging in his scent.

It went straight to her head, making her blood roar, sending her desire weaving tightly behind her navel in a way she hadn’t felt in far too long.

She could pull apart all the different smells that were a part of him, but weren’t _him_ : the astringent smell of the oil he used to clean his armour and his sword; old leather and the different, more viscous oil he would use to keep it supple; she could smell the stables on him faintly, making her wonder if he had taken Mia out that day; and incense, which she learned was a part of the Andrastian faith, one that only the most devout ever used.

The smell of his sweat overpowered the others, and she could feel herself going slick, squeezing her thighs together again, earning another bubbly giggle from under the table as she dragged in another deep breath of it, savouring it, hoping she would never forget it, balling his shirt up possessively in her lap as she finally managed to get it off her face.

“Why, Commander,” she teased him, her voice throatier than she had expected, “you smell positively _delicious._ ”

He didn’t take his eyes off her this time, instead reaching out blindly for his tankard and taking a long sip, his tongue peeking out to grab a stray drop in the corner of his mouth as he set it back down with lidded eyes, making her whimper almost inaudibly with her need.

Her head was foggy for the rest of the game, and she barely registered having to stand and take her pants off, earning another appreciative whistle from Bull and another offer from Sera, whose wandering hands Lupa had to swat away playfully.

“I think we’d better call it here,” Varric chuckled shortly after. “I’m amazed she stayed on her feet long enough to get her pants off. How many bottles has she gone through? I’ve lost count.”

“Four,” Flissa answered from over his shoulder as she grabbed what she could to clear their table off.

“You’d better make sure she makes it home in one piece, then, Chuckles.”

“I’ll go,” Cullen answered assertively.

“I think I’ll stay and help you clear away the evidence,” Solas answered evenly. “I wouldn’t want to deprive the Commander of the opportunity.”

“Fair enough,” Varric answered with a smirk. “Keep your mane-cloak-thing, then, Curly, it’s probably still too cold out there, and she’s barely got any flesh on her bones, she’ll freeze.”

Cullen was nodding, grabbing his fur mantle off the back of his chair, and Lupa tried to stand, wiping out spectacularly when the room started to spin around her. He was helping her stand a few seconds later, his rough calloused hand gentle on her arm as he steadied her, and then he was turning his mantle fur-side-in, throwing it across her shoulders, holding it in place with a heavy, muscular arm as he steered her toward the door.

She still had his shirt in her hands, and when they got out into the snow again, she held it back out to him. “If you’re going to give me your mantle, you should at least get your shirt back,” she slurred, not sure if her words were making any sense.

He took it from her without a word, wrapping it around his hand like a mitten before reaching up to grab the leather straps and buckles on the shoulders of his cloak and bringing them together, holding them closed at the point where her throat met her chestbone, bringing his arm back over her shoulder again to coax her into a walk.

He either held his liquor far better than her, or he’d had far less to drink than she thought; where she was stumbling and struggling to stay on her feet, his steps were steady and sure. At one point, even his strength could barely hold her up as she went down into the fluffy snow that had fallen through the night.

He picked her up, shifting an arm from her shoulders to her tiny waist, holding up most of her weight, not trusting her to carry it herself, and they made it back to her cottage faster than she expected.

Lupa wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but she found herself leaning against her door with one of Cullen’s hands still holding his mantle closed across her throat, his other hand gripping the dip of her waist softly to help keep her steady, the tips of his fingers reaching the muscles against her spine, his thumb held straight up against one of the lines on her stomach, almost reaching the underwire of her breastband. The cloak covered a good amount of her bare upper body, wrapping all the way around her easily, stopping just shy of her navel. They still hadn’t said anything to each other since leaving the tavern, and the silence was heavily charged, but not exactly uncomfortable.

His gaze on her was heavy, and she avoided it by taking a good look at him finally: she always forgot how tall he was, standing a good two heads above her as she stared straight ahead and found herself looking at the flat bone in the middle of his chest, spying a light sprinkling of blonde hair framing his definitive pectoral muscles; she followed the line of sight down to his stomach, where the creases of his abs stood out in the weak moonlight; there was a line of coarse, dark blonde hair extending from his navel to past the waistband of his pants (which he had somehow managed to keep), and Lupa wasn’t quite sure what all _that_ was about, as she’d never known a shem before; she spotted little scars here and there, including a waxy, shiny burn scar wrapping around his right side as she looked back up to find his face, spying the way his chest rose and fell as he breathed, the air coming in shorter and shallower than just a few moments ago. He was more bulky and defined than Owain had been, but leaner and better toned than Bull, and she could tell that he was a warrior who understood the advantage of speed over strength.

When she found his face again, it took everything in her not to arch out lustfully against the door behind her; his eyes were dark again, lidded, lips swollen from his teeth and he dragged his bottom lip in to bite it again. She wanted so badly to just reach out, to stretch her hand against the hard planes of his stomach, to dig her nails in and hear him hiss at the sharp but inoffensive pain it would bring, to feel his mouth wet and hot against hers, tongues tangling, his rough hand grasping at her tightly instead of lightly-

She might have done just that if his grip on the clasps of his mantle didn’t slip in that moment, baring one of her shoulders to the freezing air around them, shocking her back to her senses. This wasn’t the kind of man Cullen was, she knew that; despite what she might want, _need_ , she wouldn’t take it from him tonight, no matter how much she might want to. 

Lupa reached up and took the clasps from his wrapped hand, shrugging out of the mantle and holding it out in front of her, hoping her teeth weren’t actually clattering together as loudly as they were in her ears as she shivered, hard, attempting to change her stance just enough to make her feel like she was giving them more space.

“You’ll be cold without it,” she told him. “Thank you for letting me use it to get home. And for bringing me here.”

He chuckled darkly, removing his free hand from her waist to unwrap his other, handing her his shirt back before taking his mantle and tossing it around his own shoulders. “A trade, then. You’ll get sick without anything on.”

Lupa didn’t need telling twice, and she yanked his shirt over her head. It was huge on her, hanging past her hips, the tight v-shaped neckline which had been relatively close-fitting on him plunging down between her breasts, leaving a swath of flushed skin exposed, the sleeves extending half a foot past the tips of her fingers.

Cullen reached out with his free hand to help her roll up the sleeves so her hands were free again, and she saw the way he couldn’t seem to keep from staring at her bare sternum, following the line of the collar. “It looks good on you,” he murmured lowly, and Lupa almost whimpered again, distinctly aware of just how slick she was against her smalls, positive she could _smell_ her own arousal through the stench of the alcohol on them.

Once her hands were free again, she grabbed behind her for her door handle with one hand, reaching for the unpierced tip of her ear with the other shyly. “I need to go to bed,” she stated.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Cullen agreed with a laugh. “Will you be okay?”

“Mhmm,” she answered, trying to take her eyes away from his lips, mesmerized by the way they moved, wondering what they would feel like moving against her hot skin-

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he almost whispered, his voice low, slightly disappointed sounding. “Good night, Lina.”

“Good night, Cullen. Thank you, again.”

She waited until he had turned his back before opening her door and stumbling into her cottage, closing it behind her with a quiet _click_ as she let her self-control crumble around her. There was no way she could ignore the deep ache that had settled in to her core, her thighs clenching shut aggressively, making her acutely aware of her throbbing pulse rushing through the tightly packed bundle of nerves between her folds.

She moaned defeatedly, reaching under the waist of Cullen’s shirt to get rid of her breastband, which was suddenly uncomfortable against her breasts, her nipples tight as she let it fall to the floor at her feet, tumbling into her bed and pulling the covers up over her head as she lay flat on her back.

His scent was still strong on his shirt, and soon it was swirling all around her, driving her to the brink; she reached out with one hand and dragged the waist of his shirt up again, this time grabbing desperately at a bare breast, needing some sort of touch, even if it was her own.

It made her arch her back off the bed when she reached it, her breath catching, and it took little effort to imagine rough callouses instead of soft fingertips as she dragged a nail over her nipple, her other hand reaching down to the waistband of her smalls.

She was too drunk to be ashamed of the way she was imagining him, shivering when her cold hand brushed against the sensitive skin on the top of her hip. Suddenly she was finding it difficult to breathe, and she pulled her blankets down just to her shoulders before searching for the band of her smalls again.

She slid her hand beneath them, bringing one knee up and out to her side so she could find herself more easily. She was slick, she could feel it on the back of her hand from where it had soaked into the fabric, and she touched one tentative finger to her slit, searching for her pulsing nub.

When she found it, he hips curled in towards her navel; she lavished her attention on it for a time, but it just wasn’t enough for her tonight.

She needed to be full.

Lupa stopped herself, just for a moment, and her back arched in protest; but then she straightened out her legs, ripping off her smalls and tossing them to the foot of the bed, before spreading herself wide again, finding her entrance and slowly pushing two of her fingers inside.

She gasped, the sensation desperately needed but entirely new, her hips curling inward again, and she thought about her two slender fingers as one of his own, rough and warm as she found her other sweet spot, shuddering under her own ministrations, whimpering in her ecstasy, taking her time to build herself to her climax.

She found her pulsing nub again with the tip of her thumb, allowing the movement to stimulate both at once as she rolled her hips, and she moaned again, feeling the threads in her desire break, her inner walls tightening and retracting methodically, knowing she was so close-

A tiny jolt of electricity left her fingertips unbidden, and it sent her over the edge; she gasped loudly, his name falling from her lips against her will, back arching, her legs clamping shut, trying desperately to move again, to keep herself going, wanting to ride the delicious waves of pleasure for as long as possible.

She was relaxing into the mattress sooner than she wanted, both satisfied and longing; she had needed it so badly, but she was tired of doing it herself. She cursed herself for not taking her chances with the Commander, for letting him turn back to the Chantry and his own bed.

She was barely awake enough to register than her hand was sticky and soaked in her own pleasure, dragging her palm against the sheets at her side as she rolled onto her stomach, letting it fall off the side of the bed as she fell into blissful sleep, his name a satisfied whisper of a prayer on her lips again as the Fade claimed her for another night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking them up was so hard to do, and there was really only one resolution to the night for poor Lupa. Maker only knows how Cullen dealt with it... 
> 
> This Wicked Grace scene has been in my head since the very beginning, and actually was the scene that made me consider the rest of the story to go around it. I feel like it turned out well. Her getting to keep his shirt felt so satisfying, too. 
> 
> Also Bull>Blackwall for me; I never use Blackwall, even in my first playthrough before spoilery things happened. Could have just recruited Blackwall, but I wanted Bull to be going out to travel.


	12. By Your Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hang overs and hardships.

Lupa could hear Romulus snoring softly somewhere to her left, but she wondered if she was actually awake.

She was lying on her stomach, arm still hanging over the side of the bed, exactly how she had passed out the night before. She didn’t try to move right away, wondering if she was still drunk; her mouth felt fuzzy and disgusting, and she could smell the remnants of the alcohol on herself still, swirling with a far more comforting scent she couldn’t put her finger on. Her eyes were still closed, but the light hurt; sunlight shouldn’t _hurt_ , but it was so strong, her stomach was starting to turn.

She finally tried to sit up, and groaned loudly, waking Romulus from his sleep. He laughed quietly at her, plopping his head back down on his paws, leaving her to get herself ready.

Lupa knew she should bathe, but she was starving, so she took a quick mental inventory of her state of dress: she still had a big shirt on, but no pants, and she decided that she didn’t want to expend more energy than was truly necessary, grabbing the first pair of pants she spotted and pulling them on. She tried to reach for a small amount of magic to smooth her hair, barely managing to hold on to it long enough to get rid of her tangles, letting it go to leave her hair loose instead of styling it when a wave of nausea took over her.

She tried to remember the last time she had been this hung over, but couldn’t think of a single instance, and swore she would never let herself get into this kind of shape ever again.

She stepped out of her cottage a few moments later, Romulus moving ahead to wait for her at the bottom of the step, dragging her feet and squinting painfully as the bright wintery sun reflected off the fresh snow; it may have been the middle of summer in Denerim, but in the mountains, it seemed it was always winter.

Lupa picked around her little cottage and knelt down, stuffing her hands in the snow. There was a crunchy, icy layer on the top, and she used it to scrub her hands clean before picking more up and scrubbing her face with it. The tiny ice crystals actually felt good scratching against her skin, and the shocking cold helped to make her more alert, though she was still terribly foggy as she picked herself up again and started for the Chantry.

She was halfway there when another wave of nausea came over her, this time spurred on by a sudden, overwhelming amount of shame as she abruptly recalled the previous night and the way she had used Cullen’s memory. She sprinted behind a nearby supply shed to empty what little was in her stomach, grabbing another clean handful of snow to munch on when she finally collected herself again.

She groaned as she emerged from the soft shade into the harsh light again, reflecting off the snow and stinging her eyes, making her head pound. She squinted and dragged her feet again, eyes barely open enough to figure out where she was going, and relief washed over her when she made it to the Chantry doors.

Lupa opened them gingerly, letting Romulus slip inside before she closed the door behind them. It was blissfully dim in the Chantry, but the sounds of muted conversation and cutlery hitting plates was just as bad as the sun, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly to try to clear her senses.

She didn’t register that the entire hall had gone silent at her entrance until everyone seemed to be cheering loudly, some giving earsplitting whistles that bounced around the cold stone walls, banging cutlery and cups loudly against the heavy wooden tables; it turned to hearty laughter when she cringed, hands involuntarily flying up to cover her ears and put pressure on her temples at the onslaught of noise.

She somehow managed to find her usual seat, and today most of her usual companions were there waiting for her.

Cassandra was to her right, pushing an entire pitcher of water in front of her with a smile. “You need to rehydrate,” she said simply, pouring a glass for her when she saw how truly incapable Lupa seemed to be.

Solas and Varric just chuckled quietly, sneaking each other knowing glances that Lupa didn’t see; Sera bumped her shoulder as she moved down the table to take a seat, looking as rough as Lupa felt, claiming another water pitcher as her own; Vivienne was far away, and Lupa didn’t need to find her among the crowd to imagine the disapproving purse of her lips.

Blackwall was coming around to sit across from the empty seat to Lupa’s left, which was in the process of being occupied by Bull; he had a huge steaming plate of meat in one hand, and clapped Lupa on the shoulder with the other. Had she been sitting on soft ground, the force would have driven her chair down to the seat in the soft earth, and she was sure she’d have a lovely bruise by dinnertime.

“Extra bacon for you and Cullen, Boss,” he told her, setting the meat-laden plate down in the middle of the table between Lupa and the empty seat across from her. “You need more water, but you also need to eat something salty. Trust me on this one.”

So she grabbed a greasy, salty piece of bacon and chewed.

She had never tasted anything so beautiful in her life.

Lupa paid little attention to the conversation happening around her, slowly putting a dent in the pile of meat in front of her, dropping a few for Romulus when he wasn’t brought anything else.

She was pulled out of her reverie by another loud cheer, and she winced again, fingers on her temples, looking up to see Cullen emerging from his room.

The cheering turned to laughter again as he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose, but turned quickly to disappointed _awes_. Lupa wasn’t sure why they had, but Cullen had finally opened his eyes and spotted them all, striding over slowly to take his usual place across the table from her.

He smelled clean, and his hair was wet; he must have felt better than her if he took the liberty of having a bath before emerging.

One hand was trying to brush his curls back into place while the other was pouring a glass of water, which he sucked back in one gulp before pouring another, abandoning the pitcher and snapping up a slice of bacon, ripping into it with less than his usual grace.

“’Morning,” Lupa mumbled, voice thick.

“Mmm,” he responded, licking a layer of bacon grease from his bottom lip before going for another sip of water.

He looked at her finally when he set his glass down again, and his eyebrows raised a fraction, followed by a corner of his mouth.

“What?” she asked stupidly, reaching for another piece of bacon to work on.

Everyone around them was chuckling lowly, but Lupa didn’t understand. “Nothing,” Cullen said. “No offense, Herald, but you look terrible.”

“Worse than Sera?” she asked, nodding in the general direction their other elf had gone.

“You’re like peas in a pod this morning, Wolfy.”

“Thanks, Stoney,” she answered darkly, earning another laugh from the table.

She heard them all picking up conversations again, but she tuned them out, instead focusing on eating, finding a piece of fresh bread when the bacon was almost gone. When they were all done, Cassandra placed a soft hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have to remind you of our War Council, Capitoline,” she said softly, quietly, and Lupa was grateful for her consideration.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered.

“Let us go then,” Cassandra commanded, and they walked around the table to join Cullen before heading to the War Room.

Romulus stood next to Lupa today, and she threw an arm over his shoulder, welcoming the support, grateful he had chosen not to sit or even to nap while they worked.

“You missed the party last night, Cassandra,” Leliana admonished, teasing.

“So it seems. I was busy working anyhow, and wouldn’t have been able to make it. It is good that one of us is in working condition today,” she answered, her tone light, a small smile stretching across her face.

“Let’s get to it then,” Josephine responded, voice rough. “I think all of us would like to start working on feeling human again.”

Thankfully, Lupa didn’t need to pay attention too closely; she wasn’t sure she could even if she tried. When she would look up at the others from time to time, she would spot Cullen, confused by the ever present look of subtle pride he was wearing today, and she would be busy trying to decode it, as if there was some secret he was holding on to that needed to be shared.

“We must decide,” Cassandra said from beside her, shaking her out of one of her daydreams, “who we are going to approach for help with the Breach. Has there been any progress with the location of the Templars, Leliana?”

“We are close, but I am still waiting on some key pieces of information. I would estimate a few days to consider what we will do while I wait on it.”

“Good. We will leave that decision in your hands, Herald.”

“In my hands?” Lupa asked, confused. “Why?”

“You are the only one capable of closing the Breach,” Cullen explained, looking at her squarely for the first time since breakfast, “therefore it is only right that you should be able to choose what help you receive to do so.”

Lupa simply nodded.

“Is there anything else urgent?” Leliana prompted, and they all shook their heads. “Then I suggest we hold off on other matters until tomorrow.”

A collective sigh of relief went through the room. As they went to leave, Leliana called back out again. “Commander? Herald? Could you wait with me a moment? I have something for you.”

Lupa wanted to groan as she watched Josephine and Cassandra leave, but she turned back to the Spymaster and tried to smile. She would not have kept them unless it was important.

Cullen was pinching the bridge of his nose again, eyes squeezed shut as Leliana put two steaming mugs in front of them.

“A special tea Josephine keeps for such mornings as these,” she explained. “It will help you feel a little better hydrated and alert.”

“Thank you,” Cullen offered, taking the one nearest him and holding it, watching the steam swirl over the rim, and Lupa saw his face start to turn red.

She picked up her own, dipping a finger into it to test the temperature. It was still far too hot, so she did the same as Cullen, letting it warm her hands.

“Solas has offered to ease your headaches, if you wish to go and see him at some point during the day,” Leliana continued. “And Herald? You should know, in our culture, it is good practice to wash another’s clothes before returning them.”

Lupa wasn’t sure if she went deathly pale or bright red in that moment; she looked down, noting the way her sleeves were still rolled like he had done for her the night before, the collar hanging much lower than she had noticed in her less-than-alert state, and suddenly Cullen’s prideful look and the soldiers cheers and disappointment made far more sense.

“I - of course. Sorry, Commander, I-”

He simply chuckled lowly, a smirk twisting the scar on his lip. “It’s all right,” he teased. “Apparently I smell _positively delicious._ I almost understand not wanting to give it up, if that’s the case.”

Lupa was definitely red this time, and she saw Leliana trying to school her expression from across the table. “I’ll bring you the honeypot, then leave you alone to finish your tea,” she told them, before doing just that and leaving the War Room, closing the door behind her with a quiet _click._

They stood in amiable silence for a few minutes, quietly waiting for their tea to cool enough to drink. Lupa tasted it, putting it down and reaching for the honeypot. “I can barely even remember last night,” she admitted sheepishly, watching the honey drip into her steaming mug instead of looking at the man across the table from her.

“I’m not surprised,” Cullen laughed, groaning at the way it must have hurt his head. “I think I heard Flissa say you drank four bottles of wine.”

“Creators, no wonder I feel like I got dragged through the afterlife and back,” she answered, shaking her head slowly. “I guess this explains why the soldiers were so disappointed when you emerged this morning.”

“I’ll never head the end of it,” Cullen answered, shaking his head in turn.

Lupa sighed, taking another sip of her tea, pushing the honeypot towards him. She watched him take the spoon and let the honey drip slowly into his tea before speaking again. “I think I’ll go see Solas,” she said absently. “Maybe I’ll be able to get something done later if I do.”

“Probably for the best,” he agreed.

“I’ll get this washed and returned to you as soon as possible,” she continued, looking down at her hands on her mug instead of Cullen, feeling her face turning red.

“Keep it,” he told her. When she looked up at him with an eyebrow cocked, he raised his commandingly. “No, I mean it. Having something bigger for cold nights while you’re away will make it easier for you to layer against the cold.”

“If you say so,” she smiled, trying to tease him, but he nodded almost gravely at her.

“Go see Solas, and take the rest of the day to yourself,” he told her.

“I will. And I’m sorry for anything I may have said or done last night,” she threw out belatedly.

“You did nothing you should be worried about,” he consoled her. The way he turned to look away from her, reaching up to massage the back of his neck as his cheeks coloured red said otherwise, but Lupa left it alone.

She left the War Room then, Romulus at her side and mug in hand, looking forward to some healing magic and a long, hot bath.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas had said nothing to her when she approached him, placing his palms flat against the side of her head to soothe away the throbbing pain, before telling her to go take a bath and relax.

She ended up taking two: the first she hurried through, cleaning the sweat and dirt of drinking from her skin, using her magic to carry the tub outside to dump it with minimal discomfort; then she spent half an hour collecting large buckets of snow from outside to melt for a second, longer, more relaxing bath.

She fell asleep at one point, and Romulus woke her up with a nip to her ear when he realized it, afraid she would slip in to her tub and drown. She got out then, taking just enough time to dry her skin in front of the fire before climbing into bed for a nap.

Lupa slept through lunch, but she wasn’t terribly hungry. Instead, she spent the afternoon talking to the mages and Templars they had already recruited to their cause, hoping to gain some information about how each side could help with closing the Breach.

If the choice was going to be left to her, then she would make sure she made the best choice.

When the signal bells were rung for dinner, Lupa was sure she knew what she was going to do. She thought maybe she had always known, but the new information she had gathered cemented her decision in her mind.

She was _not_ looking forward to telling the others.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Leliana confirmed the next morning during a short meeting that she had a firm location for the Templars: Therinfall Redoubt.

“What are they doing _there_?” Cassandra had asked incredulously.

“My scouts haven’t been able to confirm,” Leliana responded evenly.

Cullen had said nothing throughout the meeting, and when Leliana gave her one more day to consider what she would do, Lupa took it.

She spent the entire day talking to her inner circle, trying to figure out what they thought she should do and why. A few simply told her to do what she thought best, but a few spent a good amount of her time giving convincing arguments for both sides.

When she went to bed that night, she was already feeling nervous about the next morning’s meeting, and it took her longer than usual to fall asleep. When she finally did, it was fitful, and she woke early the next morning, feeling terrible and exhausted.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked her at breakfast. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

Lupa just nodded, trying again to eat.

She was ultimately unsuccessful, and it took everything in her to keep what little breakfast she had eaten down when they took their places around the War Table again.

They were all quiet, waiting on her; she swallowed thickly and cleared her throat, turning to Leliana. “Are we able to get messages through to Therinfall?”

“My scouts have infiltrated the place,” the Spymaster told her. “I can contact them, and they can make sure messages are seen in the right places, if needed.”

“Good,” Lupa answered. “Send as many birds as we can spare; make it known that the Templars have an out and a worthy cause if they are looking for one. Make it sound inviting.”

She looked up and saw Cullen’s brow knitting together angrily, and she pushed on before he could speak. “Dorian arrived late last night. I will be returning with him to Redcliffe to get the mages.”

“Are you sure this is the best idea?” Cullen asked abruptly a few seconds later, after Lupa’s words had sunk in around the table, his voice taking an aggressive edge. “We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!”

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a _magister,_ ” Cassandra countered. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“This letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name,” Josephine added. “It’s an obvious trap.”

Leliana sighed from across the room. “A Tevinter Magister controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and some of us want to do _nothing.”_

“Not this again…” Josephine muttered.

Cullen was turning his ire on the Spymaster. “Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in all of Ferelden. It has repelled _thousands_ of assaults.” Now he was looking at Lupa, his expression more pained than she was sure he meant for it to be. “If you go in there, you’ll _die_. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the Breach. I won’t allow it.”

Lupa was suddenly angry; who was _he_ , to say she _wasn’t allowed_ to do something? “I’ll have you know, I can do whatever I want. I was given this decision to make, and I have made it!” she told him fiercely.

He was frowning again, voice angry. “But the Templars-”

“Can’t help me!” Lupa finished for him.

“And how do you know that? I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of! Besides, bringing that many mages here could be disastrous, we don’t have the means to protect them. Just because they’re of your kind, Herald, doesn’t mean they’re the better option!”

“Oh, is that it?” Lupa was furious, sure she was shaking, her voice low and quiet. She paused for a moment, glaring at him, and the silence around them was ringing. “You think I’m only going to Redcliffe because _I’m_ a mage, therefore I automatically think they’re the best course. Naturally that would be _your_ train of thought.” She gave Cullen only a minute to try to defend himself, but when he simply continued to glare at her, she continued. “Did it never occur to you that I had spoken to both the Templars and the mages that are already here? That I would have already picked their brains for what they could do? Every Templar I spoke to told me the same story: if they were able to weaken the Breach, then they would be weakening me, too, and their help would be rendered useless. They actually _encouraged_ me to go to Redcliffe for the mages, provided I tried to give the ones who are still tied to the Order a chance to get out. Unlike you. I know you have a dark past, that you’ve been burned by your charges before, but I thought you were a bigger man than that. Or do you simply choose to try to forget that _I’m_ a mage? Like it’s some sort of sick handicap you have to deal with when you’re with me? Because if that’s the case, if you really hate mages that much, then maybe you should reconsider your position in this organization, _Commander.”_

She saw him flinch at the way she spat his title at him, but she didn’t care; he had insulted her, and Lupa would not _allow it._ She couldn’t be here any longer, the others could work out the details; she turned on her heel and flung the door wide, almost walking straight into Dorian as she stormed out, a little upset she couldn’t slam the door shut behind her.

Romulus stayed close by her side, and she beelined for her cottage, making sure she had everything she needed to go. Just as she was about to go ask the others when they would be ready to leave, a quiet knock sounded on her door.

“It’s Dorian,” the Tevinter called, and she went to let him in.

He told her the plan, and that he was ready to leave whenever; she would need to take him with her. She had no objections, and he followed her to find Varric and Bull, his presence a strange, soothing balm on her raw emotional wound.

Lupa and the others were on their way to Redcliffe less than an hour later, leaving the bustling town of Haven behind them.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_What have I done?_

Cullen couldn’t believe his reaction. She had been right, of course; when he truly thought about it, the Templars wouldn’t be very good help at all. She had done her research and acted on the results she had received.

He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so strongly about trying to recruit the Templars, either, other than giving them a chance to escape whatever nonsense they had gotten themselves into.

The guilt was overwhelming, and when he didn’t see Lina anywhere at lunch, he decided to pay her a visit to smooth things over. Perhaps it was too early to start drinking, but he hoped another bottle of wine as a peace offering might help things go more smoothly.

He was just about to reach her hut when a stern voice floated out from behind him.

“She has already left.”

Cullen stopped and turned to find Solas standing a few feet behind him. The elf was closing the gap, and Cullen could see that he was angry, though he was controlling it well.

“You should know that she was still absolutely furious when she left,” the elf continued, staring him straight in the eye. “I understand you feel strong ties about the Templars still, Commander, but you attempted to demean and embarrass her in front of the others, as well as insulting her intelligence. I certainly hope you have a plan to make this up to her.”

Cullen sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat, his gaze dropping from the mage in front of him to look at his feet. “I thought she wouldn’t be leaving until the morning. I was hoping I could patch things over before she left.”

“Then you’d best hope she _makes it_ home, Commander, so you can put that bottle of reconciliation to use.”

Solas was already walking away, leaving Cullen alone with the terrible well of fear and guilt, closing his eyes tight as he offered a prayer for her safety, before making his way back to the peace and solitude of the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems appropriate that today is the hang over update... 
> 
> Took some liberty again with the scene before In Hushed Whispers, but they were getting along too well, and it was irresistible.


	13. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major quest time! 
> 
> Timey wimey stuff! And the most graphic descriptions of death and dismemberment I've used so far.

“Where I go, they go.”

Lupa was not interested in playing games, especially with this runner who was insisting she be the only one allowed in to see the Magister. She had calmed down from her encounter with Cullen, but she was already tired from the ordeal, patience worn thin, and she wanted to be home in time to have breakfast with the others tomorrow.

Bull and Varric were trying to look as harmless as possible behind her, though she was sure only one of them was truly succeeding. Even Romulus was doing a good job of trying to play toothless pet canine, wagging his tail and panting heavily, ears perky, head cocked, eyes bright and inviting.

Dorian, for the moment, had left them; Alexius still didn’t know he was here, so their newest mage had taken the secret windmill path with Leliana and her scouts.

The runner was regarding Lupa and her companions quietly with narrowed eyes. It took him only a moment before he gave a small nod, and they followed him through to the throne room of Redcliffe Castle.

Alexius was, of course, lounging regally on the bulky Fereldan throne, a hand on each of the mabari heads carved into the armrests, his son Felix standing attentively to his right side, eyeing Lupa worriedly when he knew his father wouldn’t see.

Lupa stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne, spotting Grand Enchanter Fiona to her right looking nervous, before turning to watch the runner take his place at the corner of the steps to her left.

“My Lord Magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived,” he announced loudly.

Alexius unfolded his legs and stood, taking a few small paces towards them, not leaving the safety of his elevated platform. “My friend!” he exclaimed, almost too warmly. “It’s so good to see you again. And your… associates, of course,” he added uncomfortably, gesturing to the Qunari and dwarf at her shoulders. “I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

The Grand Enchanter was approaching the dias now, her brow furrowed, voice hard. “Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?”

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives,” Alexius responded, his voice full of warning.

“If the Grand Enchanter wants to be a part of these talks,” Lupa interjected, “then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.”

Fiona’s expression was still sour, but she nodded in appreciation at Lupa. “Thank you.”

Alexius turned his back to them, approaching the throne and sitting back comfortably in it, one leg bent over the other, fingers steepled in his lap. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them,” he stated coldly. “So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

“Actually,” Lupa answered pensively, cocking her head to match the wolf at her side, a small, sly grin coming over her face, “I’d much rather discuss your time magic.”

To his credit, the snake sitting on the throne in front of her managed to keep a neutral expression. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean,” he told her with a slow, one sided shrug.

Felix was turning around to face the throne now, his expression grave. “She knows everything, Father.”

“Felix, what have you done?” Alexius’ voice was low, full of warning, but Felix stood his ground.

“Your son is concerned you’ve involved yourself in something terrible,” Lupa told him, but her voice was not kind.

Alexius’ calm and kind demeanor was gone, replaced with a sneer. “So speaks the thief,” he spat at her. “Do you really think you can turn my son against me?” He was rising from the throne, his entire face twisting in hatred. “You walk into _my_ stronghold with your stolen Mark – a gift you don’t even _understand_ – and think _you’re_ in control? You are nothing more than a mistake.”

Lupa refused to let the man’s words get under her skin; if she _were_ a mistake, at least she had managed to do good with it. She was sure the outcome otherwise might not have been so beneficial to the peoples of Thedas.

“What do you know of the Divine’s death?” she pressed on.

“It was the Elder One’s moment, and you were unworthy even to stand in his presence,” Alexius sneered at her.

Felix took a step forward. “Father, listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?!”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.”

Lupa turned to see Dorian emerging from behind one of the nearby pillars, standing tall and defiant, but she could read the sadness on his face, too.

“Dorian.” Alexius’ tone was dark and cold. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. The Elder One had power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes!”

Dorian was too proud to flinch at his former mentor’s tone, choosing instead to sneer back with total detachment.

“What’s better than turning back time?” Lupa muttered sarcastically, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Alexius didn’t seem to care, continuing on with his fanatic ramblings, and Lupa did her best to pay attention; not because she actually cared, but because she would need the information to figure out who this mysterious _Elder One_ was. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.” His voice was almost breathless by the end.

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona shouted from Lupa’s right, absolutely livid.

Dorian stepped forward finally to confront the Magister directly, his shoulders tense, his voice carefully restrained. “Alexius, this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?”

Lupa heard someone fall to their knees softly behind her, and she knew Leliana’s spies had started to take care of the guards. Alexius was none the wiser for the moment; he had turned his back on them again a fraction of a second before the first guard fell.

“Stop it, Father,” Felix commanded, his voice pleading. “Give up the Venatori. Let the Southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No!” Alexius countered immediately, voice quiet but full of so much pain, Lupa almost felt bad for him. “It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

“Save me?” Felix breathed in confusion.

“There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix told him, voice firm, brow knit together in defiance. “You need to accept that!”

Lupa wasn’t sure what was happening here, but she decided suddenly that she did pity the Magister; if his only child was ill and dying, and this was the only way he knew how to save him…Could she truly say she wouldn’t do the same for her own?

Alexius was past hearing his pleading son, motioning out across the floor, his voice booming with command. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

Lupa chuckled lowly at his disbelief when he saw Leliana’s spies step out from behind his dead guards finally. Romulus dropped his act beside her, head low, lips curled back in a silent, aggressive snarl. “Your men are dead, Alexius.”

“You… are a mistake!” he spat at her again. “You never should have existed!”

There were more Venatori men bursting into the room, and Romulus snarled and lunged at a man to her right when Alexius thrust his hand forward, a strange amulet glowing Fade green in his hand. Lupa barely registered Dorian yelling beside her, his staff glowing, before she felt a sharp pull behind her navel, the Fade green encompassing her in a dizzying swirl.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa dropped painfully onto a cold stone floor with a splash, and heard Dorian drop down next to her a fraction of a second later.

It took her less than half a second to mentally collect herself enough to know that she was-

 _No…_ she was whole, and healthy, but there was a part of her that was dark, cold, empty.

Dead. 

“ _Rom…”_ she moaned, the grief and pain and overwhelming emptiness threatening to incapacitate her.

Two Venatori guardsmen had run splashing into the cell her and Dorian had dropped in to, and she cried out in her pain and rage. She heard one of them swear, the other expressing confusion, but their words meant nothing to her.

Her aura expanded, and they stopped dead in their tracks, swords still raised, their full-faced helms showing nothing of their expression. She felt the walls around them begin to rumble, and a huge stone fell from the ceiling on top of their heads, knocking them both out cold in the knee-high water around them, holding them down.

Dorian looked at her with concern before moving over to check both the guards for keys; they had managed to swing the door shut behind them with a loud _clunk_ , no doubt the lock mechanism setting back in to place. When he found them, he left them there to drown, the big rock pinning them down on their chests.

Dorian was muttering to himself, trying to figure out what had happened. “Displacement? Interesting!” he settled on, curiosity evident in his tone. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The Rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

Lupa tried to focus on what he was saying, but it was difficult when such an integral part of her was dead and gone. Instead, she stayed quiet, letting him continue to talk it through.

He walked away, bending over something in the water by the door again, and she decided she should speak up. “Last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” she offered, voice small and weak.

Dorian nodded, straightening up again as he continued to muddle his way through it. “Let’s see… if we’re still in the castle, it isn’t – of course! It’s not simply where – it’s when!” He was turning to look at her again, his face bright like an overzealous student, his voice strong with confidence and pride at having figured it all out. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus! It moved us through time!”

Lupa found she cared less than she should. “Did we go forward, or back?” she asked with more energy than she was sure she possessed. “And how far?”

“Those are _excellent_ questions,” he told her with a smile and a wink. “We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” His expression turned serious again. “Let’s look around, see where the Rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Lupa nodded, allowing Dorian to use the keys he pilfered from the drowned guards to unlock the cell door. He pushed it open, gesturing that she go first, and she dragged her feet through the freezing water.

“We need to see if we can find the others,” she told him. “Or at least find out what’s happened to them.”

“We will, I promise you. You seem almost vulnerable without that giant beast at your side,” he tried to tease her, and she stopped when he said it, her head low as she shook it slowly.

“Romulus is gone, Dorian. _Gone._ I can feel it, like part of me has just been ripped away, I feel so empty and cold and...”

He came around to stand in front of her, and she had to struggle to keep the tears away when she saw the pain and compassion mirrored in his eyes. Before she knew what was happening, he had her wrapped up in a comforting embrace, rubbing soothing circles on her lower back, pressing her close with a hand between her shoulder blades.

“It’s alright, love,” he told her, voice low and intimate, pulling back just enough that he could press his forehead to hers. “Let it out now, and then let it give you strength. We _will_ find out who was responsible for this, and we _will_ give you revenge.”

She cried for a while, but he was right; it wasn’t enough. She did as he told her, forging her grief into armour stronger than anything a smith could have made for her, and when she pulled away finally, he nodded at the steel behind her eyes.

“There’s the Herald we all know and fear,” he teased her again, wiping the heel of his palm against her cheek. “Now let’s go see if we can’t find the others.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

The future was terrifying.

Lupa and Dorian managed to find Varric and Bull, both heavily corrupted by the red lyrium growing in their cells, yet still themselves enough to recognize them and give them some fight. Dorian had asked on her behalf if they knew about Rom, but they both refused to say anything.

“Please, don’t make me answer that,” Varric had pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears, his voice echoing strangely with the lyrium corruption.

“Find the Vint, and you’ll see for yourself,” Bull had promised, his voice not unkind.

Fiona had been too far gone to save, her body encased in a huge jagged piece of lyrium, but she had managed to confirm the date for them.

“Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon,” she had told them, her voice strained.

Over a year… Lupa couldn’t even begin to comprehend that she had missed so much time.

When they finally found Leliana, they confirmed that no one else from the Inquisition had survived.

Lupa felt a shadow of guilt at the information; her last conversation with Cullen had been a petty cat fight, and he had died with her parting words being no more than a low insult. She resolved to apologize profusely to the poor man if she managed to make it back to her own time alive.

They pushed through the rest of the castle, Leliana fighting at their side viciously, her once slender and beautiful face scarred almost beyond recognition. Lupa felt terrible; if she had just gone to get the Templars-

 _I would have ended up in another Creators-damned situation just as bad as this,_ she admitted to herself.

_But then maybe my Rom wouldn’t be dead._

When they finally reached a familiar part of the castle almost two hours later, they noticed a new door had been installed in place of the simple carved wood she had walked through a year ago to reach the throne room.

“Let me see that lyrium shard you picked off that spellbinder,” Dorain told her, and she handed it over to him without a word. “Looks like they fit in to the door. Probably five or six pieces altogether. Let’s go on another adventure, shall we?”

It took them another half an hour of hard fighting, but they managed to get the other four pieces they needed. She had burned through a number of potions, fighting recklessly, not caring if she went down now when her Rom wasn’t even there to fight for.

Dorian led them back to the throne room from the makeshift Chantry the Venatori had set up in one of the abandoned rooms in the upper floors of the castle, fitting the pieces together. He stopping next to a supply crate the Venatori had left carelessly out in the open in one of the stairways leading to the lobby.

“We should restock,” he offered. “I don’t think they’ll be needing these, anyway, do you?”

They were all quiet as they grabbed as many bottles as they could carry amongst them, Leliana and Bull downing one each and leaving the empty behind in the crate.

Then they were back in the main lobby, standing in front of the new lyrium-sealed door, and Lupa felt her rage building again when Bull spoke up finally. “The Vint should be in here, Boss. Try to save some of the fun for us, won’t you?”

He almost sounded like himself, if only it weren’t for the strange echoes in his voice from the lyrium corruption.

The door glowed a bright green as Dorian fit the lyrium key into its slot on the door, its hinges groaning in protest when it split down the middle and began to swing inward.

Alexius was standing with his back to them, facing the giant fire pit which was behind the now absent throne, a small and unresponsive figure curled up on the floor to his right.

Lupa took in the room again; it was strangely empty and dark this time, the torches extinguished, the only light coming from the high stained glass windows and the bonfire in the hearth at the back of the room. She followed the sweeping arch up to its peak-

She was howling in rage, her aura expanding rapidly and aggressively: Romulus’ head had been stuffed and mounted on a plaque above the fire like some shemlen hunting trophy. His fur had been cleaned to a perfect snow white, his eyes replaced with clear, blue lyrium, his face stuck in the same aggressive and defiant snarl she was sure he’d had on when they took his life.

She was advancing on the Magister now, her blood cold with her fury, when she was suddenly stopped short by her aura being swept away, leaving her shivering and stripped of all her mana.

“Maker’s balls,” Varric swore sadly from behind her, and she spun around to look at the dwarf, following his line of sight, peering into the shadows to her left with him.

A lone figure was stepping into the light, so painfully familiar yet horrifically different, it took Lupa a moment to recognize the man who had once been her Commander.

He _had_ survived, but she wished he had died.

He was wearing traditional Templar armour, the flaming Sword of Mercy on his breastplate painted bloody red. He had forgone a helmet, and Lupa could see the ashen tone of his skin, the way his beautiful, soft honey browns had turned an aggressive shade of red, exactly the same colour as the corrupted lyrium all along the castle’s walls. She saw the way his thick golden curls had started to fall out in tufts, thinning significantly along his forehead and temples, falling to his shoulders unkempt. She saw his drawn sword, his ready shield, the complete apathy and lack of recognition on his features when he looked at her.

Varric had unslung Bianca, nocking a bolt as he turned to look at her, his expression pained. “I’m sorry, Lupa,” he murmured lowly to her.

“Do it,” she told him, her voice shaking. “Don’t let him continue like this, please...”

Varric nodded, lining up his sights-

There was a mechanical click and a low hum, followed by a dull, wet _thud_ as the bolt hit its mark: the tail feathers were protruding from Cullen’s throat, and his eyes went wide when he realized it.

Lupa could hear him struggling to breathe, his sword clattering uselessly to the floor beside him as he fell to his knees, and she ran to catch him before he collapsed completely.

Instead of falling over, he slumped forward, and when Lupa reached him she knelt in front of him, placing her hands on either side of his face, turning him up to look at her.

He seemed to recognize her finally: he was fighting whatever had been done to him, she could see it in his terrible red eyes, and she saw him trying to say her name, blood dripping from his dry lips.

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she told him, over and over again, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

She held him like that until he was gone, letting him fall to the floor so she could roll him onto his back and cross his hands over his chest under his shield, grasping the hilt of his heavy sword which she had retrieved from the floor nearby, closing his eyes like she had seen the Chantry healers do when they lost a soldier.

When she was done, she had put her hard, cold armour back in place, downing a lyrium potion before turning to confront the Magister who had done this to her in the first place.

The others were already around him, weapons drawn, and Leliana had a knife to the throat of the person who had been slumped on the floor next to Alexius-

_Felix?!_

He looked like a wraith, is face sunken and scarred like Leliana’s but his eyes were dead and white, and he seemed to be barely holding on to life. The Spymaster was looking at her as she approached to stand with the others, and Lupa nodded sadly to her.

She cut the poor man’s throat, dropping him at the feet of the Magister, her expression murderous; the man roared his defiance-

Lupa was stepping forward, not content to let this fight go on any longer than it needed to. With Cullen’s death, she had been able to regain some of her strength again, and the lyrium potion had worked wonders; her mana was almost overflowing, and she reached out to the man in front of her, her magic binding his hands behind his back, lifting his chin to bare his throat to her.

She placed a hand on the Magister’s stomach, letting out a flash of fire, melting his skin and cooking his intestines. He screamed, but the pain was so strong, no sound could come out. “For my Cullen,” she hissed as she let him writhe, unable to move, to counter her, to do anything but let the flames lick through him.

He was almost unconscious when she withdrew her flaming hand, calling on ice instead, placing her palm against the soft skin where his jaw met his throat. “And for my Romulus,” she snarled in his ear, before letting the ice form a cold, hard spear, breaking through his skin and protruding from the back of his neck, cutting off whatever attempt he may have made to speak.

When she was sure he was dead, she withdrew her hand, severing the ice spear from her palm, letting go of the elemental magic she had called on to draw her aura in tight again.

Lupa sun around to look at the others, expecting to see disgust on their faces at her outburst; she had literally just cooked a man in front of them and then impaled his head on a spear of ice; the gut wrenching smell of burnt flesh was starting to reach her, yet they all just looked at her with sadness in their eyes for what had been done to her.

“He said the Elder One is coming,” Bull reminded them when they felt the ground shake.

Dorian had walked past Lupa to search Alexius, and he straightened up only a moment later with the amulet in hand.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used-” the Tevinter started, but Leliana cut him off.

“You need to go, now!” she told him, as the castle shook again, sending dust raining over their heads.

Lupa saw Varric and Bull looking at each other, giving a solemn nod before turning back to her. “We’ll buy you as much time as we can, Boss.”

“No!” Lupa almost screamed. Not them, too; she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. “There must be another way! I can’t let you just commit suicide!”

“We’re already dead, Lupa,” Varric told her from over his shoulder as they walked away. “At least this way we can go down before the lyrium corruption catches up to us.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, voice broken, no more than a whisper.

They were already gone, the big door closing ominously behind them. “Hurry! You have as much time as I have arrows!” Leliana commanded them, and Dorian was running back up the dias, staff in one hand, amulet in the other, smacking her with his staff when she didn’t follow him right away.

Lupa backed up the steps, eyes glued to the great door in front of them; she could hear Dorian invoking an enchantment just behind her to her right as the doors flew open, Varric’s lifeless form flung unceremoniously aside as a flood of demons came through, and Leliana began letting her arrows fly, the Chant falling from her lips as she stood her ground against the onslaught.

Dorian’s hand closed painfully around Lupa’s arm when she almost ran to the Spymaster’s aid: a Terror had a long, sharp claw pressed against her throat, but her eyes were wide and she was shaking her head-

Lupa was enveloped in bright Fade green again, the hook pulling behind her navel as she sped through time again, sure the scene before her would be forever etched into her brain.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_No…_

_No._

_NO!_

Romulus snarled loudly, his heart breaking, suddenly empty and dead feeling as he threw himself against these stupid men in their silly head armour who had tried to kill his Lupa.

There had been a flash of green, and then she had just been _gone_ , and he was furious in a way he had never been furious before.

Romulus had no idea what had happened, but she felt dead, and that was all that mattered to him now.

They would _pay_ for what they’d done to her.

He ripped into one man, getting under his helmet and tearing his throat out viciously before he launched himself at another. He rolled out of the way as a sword came down against his back right flank, yelping when the blade made it through his fur to break his skin; they had taken the gamble of leaving his armour at home on the off chance it might put the Tevinter idiots more on edge than if he played adorable, huge puppy.

When Romulus picked himself up again, he tried to put weight on his injured flank, grateful when he discovered he wasn’t as completely incapacitated as he had been the last time he’d met a blade without his armour in place.

His hesitation was just enough time for one of the stupid, smelly men he was fighting to throw his weight on him, dragging him down as one of his fellows straddled his back, putting his long blade under Rom’s throat.

Rom started to snarl and snap, but held his chin high, trying to put as much space between the knife in the man’s hand and his skin as possible; he thought his face might just get stuck in the snarl he was wearing, baring his front teeth, ears back, eyes narrowed-

Another flash of green blinded them all, and suddenly it was like Rom’s life was flooding back into him, as if he could suddenly see colours when before all he saw were shades of grey, and he made a strange, strangled cry when he felt her aura sweep through the place again.

She turned to him immediately, and he saw a strange mixture of emotions in her eyes; the Moustache was beside her, and Romulus felt the familiar soothing magic of a barrier wash over him right before his Wolf Sister let loose a potent shock of electricity, cooking both the men who had him in their clutches in an instant.

Romulus struggled out from under their weight, weak and exhausted, his skin tingling with the spare static electricity that had made it through his deteriorated barrier. By the time he turned his attention back to the others, the Head Idiot was being escorted out of the keep by the Crow Mother’s scouts, and a Royal Guard was sweeping in, ushering in the Queen of Ferelden.

The woman smelled angry, but Rom didn’t pay attention to what she was saying, as it seemed her ire was directed to the Leader of the Mages; when the Queen was done speaking, Lupa was welcoming the mages as allies of the Inquisition, and the Queen, apparently satisfied, exited the hall with her Guard in tow only moments later.  

It was only him, his Wolf Sister, and her allies in the hall now; Romulus started to limp over to her slowly, his leg in considerably more pain after having a man in full armour tackle it.

The others were expressing concern at her terrified expression, but the Moustache was ushering them out of the hall.

“We’ll meet you at the Gull and Lantern, love,” Romulus heard him say to her, and she nodded absently, watching their backs as they exited the hall.

Romulus sat in front of her, looking over his shoulder when he got there to watch the giant wood doors close loudly, and when he looked back, he could see his Lupa shaking; her scent was hard to discern, as there were so many emotions swirling through her. He heard her take a choked, shaky breath before she knelt in front of him, her hands finding the sides of his face as she cried, hot tears making wet tracks down her cheeks.

He flicked out his tongue, licking one of her tears away, and he saw her face screw up before she threw her hands around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder, shaking against him violently as she cried for many long minutes, soaking his fur, the horrible emotions and sensations and images of what she had gone through washing over him, leaving him feeling weak and sick for what had been done to her.

When she calmed down again, she tended to his leg for him, stitching his shallow wound back together with relative ease, trying to apologize for not dealing with it sooner.

His Lupa sighed wearily as she straightened up a few moments later, and he stood as well, pushing his nose under her elbow when she stepped beside him, welcoming the weight of her as she leaned on him.

“Let’s go find the others,” she murmured, “and then let’s go home.”

He walked next to her quietly as they made their way through the castle and out into the village.

Romulus didn’t care where they went, so long as he had his Wolf Sister at his side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was painful, and I'm sorry about the (potential) feels, but this whole quest was dark, and I felt like I needed to capture that.
> 
> I'm also sorry about the dialogue at the end there, before they come back in time, with Leliana and the others. Instead of scribing it from in-game directly, I went from memory. 
> 
> I'm NOT sorry about Rom's nickname for Dorian. I love his 'stache and soul patch too much.


	14. Towers Forever Stain'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets a strange taste of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey... stuff. 
> 
> Some more slightly graphic depictions of injury and death (sorry I forgot to warn on the last).

Lupa somehow managed to convince the others to leave for Haven ahead of her.

Both Varric and Bull were seriously worried about her, but Dorian understood, and he was dragging them off of her, back to the camp they had left their horses at so they could head home.

“I’ll tell you about it when we’re on the road,” she heard him saying to the others as he whisked them away.

She stayed an extra day, spending the night at one of their nearby camps, before beginning the walk home just as the sun was starting to reach its peak in the sky, with Romulus on one side and Ellana on her other; she wanted to take her time, to be as close to back to herself as she could be before she made it back to Haven.

Romulus was a huge help; she began to tell him all about everything that had happened more slowly, in better detail, and he showered her with peaceful thoughts and reminders that they had made it back, and that none of what she saw was really going to happen.

“But it _did_ actually happen to me, Rom,” she told him quietly. “You only had to go without me for a few minutes. I had to see your head stuffed and hanging on a wall.”

Even Ellana was trying to help her, sending as many slow, peaceful thoughts as she could across their connection.

Lupa did feel better by the time Haven came back into view. The quiet time had been much needed, and now she had only one thing left to do.

The guilt from her fight with Cullen was still eating at her, and even though it was late, well past dinner, the moon high, she wanted to make sure she spoke to him right away.

Lupa took only enough time to deliver Ellana back to her stall in the stables before heading to her cottage to change in to clean clothes, throwing on a long cloak with a heavy hood; she didn’t want to be stopped by anyone on the way, and when she stepped back outside, she stepped out alone.

She walked at a brisk pace toward the Chantry, and it took everything in her not to run whenever she spotted one of her other friends, breathing a sigh of relief every time they looked right past her without knowing she was there.

When she got to Cullen’s door, she hesitated for a minute. It was cracked open, just enough that she could see the light from the candle and the hearth she knew was there, but it was quiet; she didn’t want to wake him up, did she? Maybe if she knocked quietly…

She did, finally, tapping her knuckles lightly against the door, close to the hinges.

“Come in,” his voice called, weary sounding, but very much awake.

Lupa took a deep breath before lowering her hood and slipping inside, turning to look at the door instead of him as she slowly latched it behind her, afraid she would see him as he had been in the future, before taking a deep, steadying breath and reaching up to undo the ties on her cloak.

She heard him approaching her, his footfalls quick and heavy, and she had barely turned around to look at him when all the air was squeezed out of her lungs abruptly, his large, heavy arms crushing her against his chest possessively, his delicious, lively scent a comforting swirl all around her, making her dizzy. He had trapped her hands between them, so she reciprocated by laying her head sideways against the hard planes of his chest, hearing his heart beating erratically behind his ribs-

He had let her go and was putting space between them just as quickly as he had grabbed her, and it took Lupa a few seconds to get herself oriented again.

“You’re back,” he breathed, guilt and relief in equal measures written into every line of his face, his cheeks starting to flush red, a hand on the back of his neck. He looked away from her in shame, and then there were words tumbling out of him so quickly, she could barely keep up. “Maker, I’m _so sorry_ , I can’t believe the way I acted, you were right, this was definitely best, I don’t even know why I was so dead-set against it, but you could have _died_ , Andraste preserve me, and there was nothing I could do…”

He was shaking his head, hand dropping back to his side pathetically, and Lupa walked up to him and put a hand on his chest where her head had been, hoping it would draw his attention back to her.

It worked; his eyes were wide and she felt his heartrate pick up again at the touch. It took every ounce of her willpower to pull it away. “Cullen, stop,” she told him, even though he had already done so half a minute ago. “You’re not the only one at fault here. I said some absolutely terrible things as well, some far worse than what you said to me. Please, let’s just put this behind us and move forward.”

He nodded, turning around and placing his hands flat on the desk in the middle of the room, where she could see the half-completed stack of reports he had abandoned.

“I always forget you’re a mage, even when you’re using your magic right in front of me,” he admitted quietly. Lupa wasn’t sure where he was going, so she stayed quiet, giving him the time he needed to continue. He turned around again to face her again before he continued, and she began to advance on him as he spoke, stopping only a foot in front of him, craning her neck. “You don’t honestly believe I think your magic is just some awful thing I have to deal with? Like you’re diseased or something? Because I don’t, I really, truly don’t, it’s so beautiful and you wouldn’t be _you_ without it-”

Lupa winced, and he stopped when he saw it, letting out a short, irritated sigh. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I? Maker’s breath, I’m terrible at this,” he muttered, and Lupa couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

“I’m more ashamed of the fact that I suggested it,” she admitted to him in turn, and he nodded at her, taking a moment to really look at her, and she dropped her gaze from his.

“Are you okay? The others said it was a rough time, but wouldn’t tell me much,” Cullen asked her, voice low. “I’m sorry to say it, but you look terrible.”

Now it was her turn to take him in, and she couldn’t help but reach up and run the tips of her fingers along his warm cheekbone, so full of life, so different from the ashen colour it had been the last time she saw him, running two of her fingers through the short blonde curls at his temple, which were exceptionally well kept and far from receding, staring into his warm honey browns as if she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

He was standing very still, but she could feel him shivering under her touch, not moving even when she took her hand back and put some space between them again. “And you look wonderful,” she told him, her voice breaking at the memory of what he had been. “I want to tell you, I do, but… I’d rather not repeat myself. I’m sure a meeting will be called for after breakfast tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then,” she promised, voice stronger.

She watched Cullen swallow thickly, giving her a few tight nods. “Of course.”

She could feel a yawn climbing up from her chest, and she used a hand to cover her mouth, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she shook her head slowly. “I think I should go try to sleep,” she said to him. “I’m exhausted.”

“Go,” he told her firmly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, turning her back on him to walk toward the door; she hadn’t been able to get her cloak untied, so she threw her hood up again as she pulled the door open, giving Cullen a smile over her shoulder as she closed it again behind her.

She made her way back to her cottage slowly, dragging her feet, taking her time; she hadn’t lied to him when she said she was exhausted, but she was far from looking forward to sleep.

If last night was any indication, it would be a long time before she got any decent sleep again.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen stood frozen, staring at his closed door for several long minutes after she left, his mind reeling.

His guilt was gone, but the weight hadn’t lifted from him; now he was worried sick for her, with no way to help her because he didn’t know just yet what was wrong.

He sighed heavily, finally managing to move back around his desk so he could get back to the reports he had been working on, but the words were swimming off the page in front of him, getting especially jumbled every time a ghost of her touch would send a jolt through him, which seemed to happen every few seconds.

He gave up another couple of minutes later, sure he would be awake early enough in the morning to get them completed. He still didn’t have demons stalking his sleep, but the lyrium withdrawal was starting to catch up to him, and he was fighting off nightmares again.

So far, he could admit that he’d dealt with far worse; they were more of an inconvenience than anything, not truly terrors, just keeping him from sleeping restfully.

That didn’t mean he was excited to sleep and have to deal with them.

Cullen took his time stripping out of his clothes, climbing into his bed gingerly, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm himself down as he felt the ghost of her ear against his chest, sending another jolt through him, his pulse racing; he could feel the heat and tension building between his legs, but he denied it, refusing to give in, still ashamed of the way he had drunkenly abused her memory after that Maker-damned game of cards. He started trying to think of something other than the way she had touched him before, her hand on his chest, fingers running through his hair, the way she had told him he looked _wonderful_ -

That train of thought was _definitely_ not working, and he began desperately remembering the pain behind her eyes, even as she tried to hide it from him as she told him she didn’t want to tell him just yet about what had happened, sending his active imagination thinking about all the possible things that could have gone wrong.

It was a crude way of going about it, but it gave him the results he desired; he squeezed his eyes shut tightly as the tension ebbed away, and he continued to slow his breathing, drifting off to sleep only moments later.

He went uninterrupted for a while, he wasn’t really sure for how long. It almost seemed like he _would_ get a good night’s sleep-

He felt it, a light tug reaching him through the Fade, as if it were trying to form around him. It was sluggish, but it was enough to make him conscious of dreaming, leaving him standing there in the dark, until another twist met him, this time stronger, laced with panic and grief.

He would recognize her signature anywhere.

Cullen had no idea what was happening as another twist pulled at him; was he finding her? Was she pulling him in? The latter seemed to be the most likely, since he had no magic of his own.

He gasped as another twist found him, bringing him into whatever was happening, dragging him out of the darkness and into a dimly lit room, its stone walls lined with huge, jagged spikes of red lyrium.

They were hissing and popping and thrumming around him, but the sound wasn’t as potent as real lyrium, so he was far from worried-

Until he saw her kneeling in the centre of the long room, wailing her grief, her hands twisted into the bloody mass of fur in front of her.

Cullen saw a small patch of snow white on the tail, and realized she was holding on to Romulus. The wolf was clearly dead, she was shaking, and he tried to move to her, to help her; he found he couldn’t move, frozen to the spot he had been dragged in at, unable to even blink until she twisted the Fade again.

It was responding poorly in her panic, but this time it afforded Cullen the ability to move his head, looking down to see himself in his old Templar armour, as he usually was in his dreams, his shield across his back, a sword hanging at his side.

He looked back up to her when he heard her scream her grief again, following her line of sight to the giant plaque on the wall over the wide, tall, sweeping hearth, where Romulus’ head had been mounted, a defiant snarl left on his face.

Cullen continued to watch as she tried, over and over again, to twist the Fade to her whims; each time, he regained some small measure of control over himself, and each time, another body would pop into existence around her, broken and bloody, as if they had been carelessly discarded there.

The Tevinter, Dorian, had been the first, with blood pooling underneath him, his head sitting at an awkward angle, telling of a broken neck; then it was Varric and Bull, both of whom had been tossed in through the door behind her, prompting a silent wail to fall from her lips; Leliana had been dropped to her left, an invisible talon dragging across her scarred, sunken throat; Solas had been thrown down in front of her, his neck torn to bloody shreds, prompting her to cry out loudly again, his strange jawbone necklace hitting the floor with a weird _clack_ ; Cassandra and Blackwall had been the last, popping up together, the former Seeker encased in red lyrium, the Warden waxy and sunken, the Calling haven taken him, turning him into a ghoul.

Cullen had only a moment to consider what had happened to their Court Enchanter when the Fade twisted again, and she began to sob loudly, an apology beginning to build on her lips.

He followed her line of sight again, and his stomach dropped when he saw himself mirrored there, across the room: his hair thinning and matted, falling to his shoulders; his eyes an angry red, like the lyrium around them; his Templar armour painted an unhealthy bloody colour.

The other Cullen was advancing on her now, sweeping her aura out from under her, leaving her entirely at his mercy; she was trying to twist the Fade again, but she had no energy left, unable to do anything more than watch him bear down on her, his expression painfully neutral, and Cullen shuddered to think that he would ever look at her so carelessly.

He saw the other him raising his sword, about to strike her down, and the _real_ him realized he could finally _move_ , his feet were free, and he was stepping between them in a fraction of a second with his shield up and sword drawn, as one can only move in dreams; he pushed the corrupted Cullen off of her, and though the expression on his face hadn’t changed, the real Cullen could tell he was marginally surprised by the intrusion, his skills weakening just enough that Lina could gather herself behind him.

With one last great twist and tug, the Fade finally conceded to obey her; now he was the only one Cullen standing there, and he watched as the lyrium and stone walls around them disappeared, leaving them in a wide open plain, dry grass blowing in a light, pleasant summer breeze.

The sudden, drastic change in scenery confused him for a few seconds. Once he caught his bearings again, he turned to find Lina still kneeling in the grass, her hands resting on her knees, a frown on her face.

He was going to move toward her, to make sure she was okay, when her aura swept over him and _through_ him. The sensation was horribly uncomfortable, but it didn’t last long, and less than a minute later it was receding, along with the frown on her face.

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” he heard her whisper. “It _is_ you. How did you get here?”

He stepped towards her swiftly, kneeling in the grass in front of her when he reached her. “I don’t know,” he told her. “It was like I was being dragged in slowly. I would have stepped in sooner, but I couldn’t move, I was stuck.”

He was worried sick for her, and it must have showed; her brow was knitting together again, but it was simply mirroring the expression on his face. She stared at him quietly for a moment before speaking again, slowly. “In Redcliffe… I was sent to the future, with Dorain… and without Romulus. That other you, that was… I don’t even know how you got into the room with us, I guess you were corrupted and then hired as a personal guard or something, but it was _awful_ , I had to ask Varric to put a bolt through your neck just to put you out of your misery…”

Cullen could feel someone watching him, the hair on the back of his neck raising off his skin, but when he turned to look behind him, there was nothing there. He turned his attention back to her, seeing tears building up in her eyes again. “Thank you,” he said honestly. “I’m sure any shred of me that was left in there was thanking you for it.”

“I hope so,” she muttered.

“Lethallin!” came a frantic voice from Cullen’s left, and they turned to see Solas running through the field toward them, stopping short and dropping to his knees next to her, reaching out a hand to place on her cheek paternally. She sank in to it as he spoke to her. “I could feel your pain, but I couldn’t break through, and then you were suddenly quiet, I had to search for you. I’m so relieved you’re okay.”

Cullen saw her nod against his palm, and then the other elf was turning to him, his aura expanding through Cullen just as hers had. He was prepared to endure it again, but Lina stepped in. “I’ve already checked, Hahren. It’s really him.”

“How curious,” Solas murmured, his aura receding.

“Indeed,” Cullen answered.

“Gentlemen, I can’t thank you enough for your concern,” Lina said, raising her head from Solas’ hand, “but I’m ready for some uninterrupted sleep.”

“Of course,” Solas told her. “I’ll try to keep you safe.”

“Ma serannas,” she whispered, but the other elf was already gone.

“I…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll send you out,” she told him, a small smile on her face finally, “Though it may wake you up. Nothing I can do about that, unfortunately, but I’ll try to be gentle.”

“Will you be okay?” he asked her, his voice rich with concern.

“I think I will be,” she answered warmly. “Enjoy the rest of your sleep, Cullen. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was sitting up abruptly in bed, his blankets falling down to pool at his waist, breathing heavily like he had exerted himself for a minute before sinking back down against his pillows, dragging his blankets back up under his chin.

He rolled over on to his stomach before closing his eyes again, wondering just when his life became so complicated.

As long as she was a part of it, he would gladly take whatever the Maker decided to throw at him.  

 

*                             *                             *

 

The remainder of Lupa’s sleep went uninterrupted, and she skipped breakfast, opting for another few hours of rest.

When she did finally rise, she took just enough time for a quick bath before dressing and heading for the Chantry, sure the others were waiting on her.

She passed Varric on the way, and the dwarf stopped her to give her a long, warm hug, not saying anything even when he let her continue on her way with a scratch behind the ear for Romulus. She took the long way around, hoping to catch Solas before having to tell her story to the others.

He fussed over her, checking to make sure she had gotten enough sleep, sweeping her into another concerned hug before letting her go on her way to see the others.

When she finally made it to the Chantry, she stepped into a heated argument between the advisors and Cassandra. Cullen turned on her when she joined them, his expression serious, voice harder than she was sure he expected it to be.

“What were you thinking, turning the mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!” he exclaimed. It seemed someone had finally told him she had granted them a full alliance. “We don’t have enough Templars to keep everyone safe. Even the strongest mages are going to be vulnerable, and with all of them clustered together here…”

“To be honest, I wasn’t exactly in the best of minds to be negotiating by the time I was done,” she admitted calmly, and she saw his expression soften in apology. “Besides, we need their cooperation. We need them to close the Breach, and it’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

“We need them, yes,” he agreed, “but if something goes wrong, they could do as much damage as the demons themselves, maybe more.”

“Enough arguing! None of us were there; we cannot afford to second-guess our people,” Cassandra chimed in, her frustration evident, turning to look at Lupa. “The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Dorian was leaning against one of the support arches behind Cassandra, and everyone turned to look at him at once. Creators, but did this man love a dramatic entrance.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra answered gravely.

“I got a taste of the consequences if we fail,” Lupa told them, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Let’s make sure we don’t.”

“We _will not_ fail,” Cassandra smiled at her.

“We should look into the things you saw in this _dark future_ ,” Leliana murmured, turning to Lupa. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do: Orlais falls, the Imperium rises! Chaos for everyone!” Dorian flourished.

“One battle at a time,” Cullen sighed. “It’s going to take time to organize my recruits and the mages, plus what few Templars we may have been able to save…Let’s take this to the War Room.” When he turned to look at Lupa again, his expression softened measurably, and she felt her knees go weak. “Join us. None of this means anything without you, after all.”

“I would like a first-hand account of what happened,” Leliana mused quietly.

 “Well, there goes my nap,” Lupa teased, and Cullen began to laugh.

“You’ve already slept almost all morning, how much more do you need?” he goaded, but his voice was kind.

“I think I’ll skip the War Council,” Dorian was saying with a dramatic sigh, drawing their attention again, “but I _would_ like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Lupa was a little surprised. “Then… you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic,” he told her whimsically. “I adore it to little pieces.”

Lupa giggled at him, a warm smile stretching across her face. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present,” she told him honestly.

“Excellent choice, but let’s not get stranded again any time soon, yes?”

Lupa laughed again, catching the poorly disguised look of envy on the Commander’s face at her words, feeling oddly satisfied with his reaction.

He tried to cover it up with more business, but she was sure the others were buying none of it. “I’ll begin making preparations to march on the summit,” he told them as they began to move toward the War Room. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

“We may have some Templar help, too, Commander,” Leliana was saying from behind them. “We can discuss it once the Herald has finished her account of the events in Redcliffe.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

“What’s this you were saying about the Templars, Leliana?” Cullen asked, trying to pull the attention away from the poor shaking elf on the other side of the table.

She had been entirely honest, even when it pained her, answering all of their questions without reservation. She deserved a medal for the torture they had just put her through.

“I have received word from one of my scouts that they were able to escort sixty Templars out of Therinfall Redoubt safely, and the small company is en route,” the Spymaster confirmed, moving around him to trace the line of their route on the map with her fingertip. “From what I understand, there were ten who showed signs of corruption, and they were dealt with swiftly before they could become a real threat. Those who are still uncorrupted are being led by one peer-promoted Knight-Lieutenant Delrin Barris.”

“Ser Barris?” Cullen repeated, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders at the name. Ser Barris had been a few years behind Cullen during their training, but the young recruit had taken a shining to him, and Cullen had been more than happy to help the young man along, before he was sent to Kinloch Hold. Even then, he would get weekly letters, looking for advice, wishing him luck in his new station. He remembered the way the other was so passionate about helping people, protecting people, just like he was; it had been what drew them together in the first place.

“You know him?” Leliana asked.

“He was a few years behind me during our training. We spoke often,” Cullen told her. “He was a good young man then. From what I hear, he’s an even better man now.”

“That is good news,” Leliana replied softly before continuing her report. “My scouts estimate they will arrive in another three to five days, depending on how hard they’re able to march. They have interesting things to say about what has been happening in Therinfall, as well.”

“Such as?” Cassandra asked.

“Such as a strange new draught of red lyrium being given instead of the regular blue variety,” the Spymaster answered again.

“So… it could have been injested?” he heard Lina murmur from across the table, but no one else seemed to.

“What in Andraste’s name would make them think refining it and _drinking_ it would be a good idea?” Cassandra spat out, incredulous.

Cullen could only shake his head.

“Apparently, that’s how our company dwindled from sixty to fifty,” Leliana said, shaking her head sadly as well. “They were already going insane without it. When they were given a draught of the usual, clean lyrium, they went into a fit of madness.”

“Thank the Maker I left when I did,” Cullen muttered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We are all grateful, Commander,” Cassandra said to him softly from across the table. “For you to have to deal with something like this, on top of everything else…”

Leliana had moved back to her usual corner of the table, gathering her reports noisily. “I suggest we wait for the Templars to arrive before going anywhere,” she offered, and Cullen dropped his hand, opening his eyes to look at her. “They will be tired, and the Breach is stable. It is important to get it closed, but I think we can afford to make sure our people are fresh for the effort.”

“I agree,” Cassandra chimed in.

Cullen nodded confidently in agreement.

“Thank you,” Lina muttered again.

They left the War Room just minutes later, and Cullen was sure he had a new spring in his step as he jumped straight in to his work.

His Brothers and Sisters were coming, and he refused to welcome them with anything less than his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to save what Templars I could, because Barris is a BAMF. 
> 
> I also learned a valuable lesson (again) today about making sure I have a playthrough that's up-to-date for major story quests so I can make sure I grab the appropriate dialogue for Lupa; I spent over an hour trying to find the 'sassy' middle option for one line in the second half of the chapter, and I entirely gave up on another, basically using what the dialogue wheel says instead of the scripted line. 
> 
> TL;DR: next chapter may take a while, since I'll be actually playing the game to get up to speed and story consistent again.


	15. Champions of the Just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Templars are here!

Lupa had wanted to take some time to herself, but there was so much work to be done, she found herself to be too busy to find any.

Which, in hindsight, was perfectly okay.

She was still being haunted by her trip into the future; every time she closed her eyes, she could see Rom’s stuffed head, or Cullen’s cold red eyes, Varric’s broken body being flung at her feet or Leliana with her throat cut out.

Her friends had been a huge help. Someone was always there to lend a hand, to keep her busy so her mind couldn’t wander. At the end of the day, she was usually so tired that the nightmares couldn’t come to her right away.

When they did, it seemed she had better control over them; it took no more than a moment of concentration and a hard twist, and the Fade would go silent again. Whatever she had done that night to draw Cullen in never happened again, and she was more than fine with that.

The mages were arriving in small groups daily, with the Grand Enchanter among the first to arrive, just before lunch the day after Lupa returned. When she wasn’t being occupied by other work involving securing suitable living space for the impending influx of people, she was fielding questions and conflicts alike from the serious leader of the Mage Rebellion.

“Fiona, I’ve already told you too many times how it is,” Lupa told her three days later, voice sharp and clipped, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes to try to keep herself from losing her cool. “The Templars are dealing with something just as bad as you were, and I’m not going to turn my back on those I _can_ save just because some of them have wronged you in the past, regardless of how severe those ‘wrongings’ were. Commander Cullen made a valid point when he said we need to make sure everyone here is kept safe, and that _includes_ the mages. Any of the ones who arrive and are found in violation of those values will be stripped of their rank and turned out.”

“When we agreed to this alliance, Herald-”

“You had literally nowhere else to go, and that still stands. You’re going to need to come to terms with the fact that there will be fifty Templars here by the end of the week, and I am _not_ turning them all away after extending an invitation. What if I had come to see what was happening with you, and then just ignored your problem?”

“That is besides the point.”

“No, it’s _exactly_ the point,” Lupa shot back, turning away from the stubborn mage who wouldn’t leave her to work in peace. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Grand Enchanter, I have work to do that doesn’t involve circular, repetitive arguments with bitter mages who can’t see past their own _circle_ of comfort.”

Fiona didn’t miss the emphasis she had put into her words, turning red in her anger. “I am simply looking out for what’s best for the mages-”

She stopped short when Romulus let out a low, warning growl.

Fiona sighed wearily after a moment of strained silence, her stern countenance dissolving into worry. “If you truly will be keeping only the ones who truly wish to protect, Herald…”

Lupa turned to look at her fully, her own defensive stance relaxing. “I promise. Cullen knows many of them by name, or reputation, or both. He will not allow anyone to cause any undue harm to any of your people. And if anyone does, I’ll personally be a part of the investigation. You won’t be left without representation.”

“Thank you, Herald,” Fiona replied, her relief evident. “I’m truly sorry to have bothered you with it, but I’ve grown accustomed to needing to protect them a little more aggressively than I’d like.”

“It’s alright,” Lupa told her. “But I _do_ need to get back to work.”

“Of course. Please let me know if you need us for anything.”

“Thank you, Fiona.”

“Glad to see you finally got that sorted out, love,” Dorian murmured seductively in her ear a minute later, producing a bottle of her favourite wine for them to share while they worked. “Courtesy of our strapping Commander. He asked that I pass along a message to you, actually.”

“Is that so?” Lupa asked, head cocked, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

“Apparently he requires your ‘expertise’ after dinner,” Dorian told her, mischief etched into every line of his face. “I was under the impression you were not sharing your ‘expertise’ with anyone at the moment. I’m hurt.”

“Why? Because he hasn’t asked you to share _your_ ‘expertise’ with him?” Lupa teased.

“It’s alright, dear, he wouldn’t know how to handle me anyway.”

“I’m not quite sure if I should be insulted or not,” Lupa admitted warily, smiling when Dorian laughed kindly.

They returned to their work, their wine gone within a quarter hour, their conversation light and playful; even Romulus would speak up every now and again, and he and Dorian would have an enthralling chat. The Tevinter had picked up quickly on the subtle nuances of Romulus’ communication methods, and the two had become fast friends.

They were in the middle of a discussion about pets and working animals when the dinner bell sounded, leaving Lupa to her own thoughts while she ate.

She had purposely avoided Cullen the last few days, even though she knew she should be thanking him for his intervention the other night; she was sure it was what had given her the extra strength she needed in the nights since. The old arguments against letting herself get close to him had resurfaced, and with the knowledge that she would be closing the Breach soon, her resolve was solidifying, stronger than it had been before.

This time, she would make sure she didn’t back down.

The rest of her night was spent facing down recruits, exercising her magic, her focus an iron wall of discipline as she threw out spell after spell, careful not to engage the confused Commander in anything more than lightly friendly small talk, slipping away at the earliest opportunity.

He caught up to her at the gate. “Herald?” His voice was steady, but she knew it well: it was cautious and reserved.

Lupa took a deep breath and turned around, not prepared for the way the sight of him standing there with his hands on the pommel of his sword sent her heart pounding, butterflies exploding in her stomach. She cleared her throat quietly before raising an eyebrow playfully at him. “You called?”

“Well, I was… hoping I could have a word?”

Lupa was smiling despite herself, cursing inwardly at her lack of control. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine… Leliana came to see me today. One of her scouts arrived back early, and it seems our Templar support will be here tomorrow.” He was nervous, brow furrowing, hands dropping from his sword so he could reach up and rub the back of his neck. “I was hoping I could call on you when they get here. I know you’ve been endlessly busy these past few days, but…”

“I’ll be more than happy to help you welcome them, Cullen,” Lupa told him warmly when she realized he wasn’t going to finish his sentence. “Just send a runner.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, clearly more comfortable than he had been just moments ago.

“I should thank _you_. I’m still not sure how you ended up with me in my dream, but your intervention has been a huge help the last few nights as well,” she admitted to him.

“How so?” he asked warily.

“I’m not sure how best to describe it… I suppose I have a better grasp on the whole thing not being real.”

“Well, I’m happy to be able to help.” His voice was low, pulsing right through her with a jolt.

Lupa swallowed thickly and nodded. “I should go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Herald.”

She turned around and walked back into the village, shoulders slumped and feet dragging, shivering at the way she could feel his eyes burning into her back.

Tomorrow, she would welcome the Templars with him.

Tomorrow, she would make sure he turned his attentions elsewhere.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen hadn’t really needed her to help him work with his recruits tonight, but it seemed she was so distracted, she hadn’t even picked up on it.

_He_ certainly hadn’t missed the way she had been purposely avoiding him the last few days, or the way she had tried to escape him the moment he dismissed everyone for the night.

He knew she was putting distance between them, and it made him sick.

He had no idea what had prompted it, but he assumed he had misstepped somewhere; she hadn’t even told him off for using her title when she left.

Cullen spotted Dorian heading to the tavern on his way back to his room in the Chantry, and felt a wild surge of jealousy. Lina had been spending a lot of her time in the new mage’s company, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed around the town. His own lieutenants were even looking at him sadly when they thought he wouldn’t see them, as if she had chosen this Tevinter and his ridiculously perfect moustache over him.

Nevermind that Dorian had been flirting with him shamelessly earlier when Cullen had flagged him down to deliver her the bottle of wine he had obtained as his apology before she left for Redcliffe and his message. It had made him a little uncomfortable, but it had been flattering.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in her, though.

When Cullen finally reached his room, he closed the door behind him with a sharp _click_ and breathed a heavy sigh, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he made his way to his private bathing closet.

He removed his armour slowly, setting it delicately aside before throwing his softer, more flexible underlayers onto his bed across the room before slipping into the steaming bath, letting the almost-too-hot water slowly ease away the tension in his muscles.

Tomorrow, his Brothers and Sisters would be here. He had asked her to join him to deflect from asking what had happened between them, but it would be a good thing for her to be there. He was far more nervous than he cared to admit; he knew all of the Templars that were coming by reputation, and certainly more than a few of them by name and face, but he was afraid of being brought back into their ranks somehow. Having Lina with him would help to establish him as being apart from them now.

Cullen sighed heavily, deciding that dwelling on it would just make him more nervous than he already was. He tried, with little success, to turn his thoughts to something else.

He gave up about ten minutes later, leaving his bath while it was still fairly warm to stand in front of his hearth to dry. He stood watching the flames flicker for many long moments, mesmerized by the way they snapped and curled around each other.

When he was finally dry, he picked his dirty clothing off his bed, tossing it aside again before settling in under his blankets for the night.

Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, when the Templars were settled in, he would get her alone and he would find out what was going on.

He drifted off to sleep only minutes later, giving him the only temporary respite from the sick worry in his stomach he would know for a long while.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa took her time getting ready the next morning, taking extra care to make sure her hair was secured in a tight braid, putting on one of her finer elven outfits and grabbing her staff before heading out into the bright sunlight.

She was surprised the Templars were arriving so soon, but it was certainly not unheard of to make extra time in a day and reduce travel time.

When she stepped out of her cottage, Romulus taking his place regally at her side, she could hear the commotion beyond the gate: lots of heavy footfalls were distant, but closing in, and the usual sound of the recruits training together was gone.

Lupa hurried to the gate, grateful she wasn’t too far away, and a runner met her as she was about to turn the bend at the gate.

“Your Worship-” the young man began with a bow.

“As you were, Gabriel,” Lupa told him warmly but sharply. “I’m already on my way.”

“As you say Herald. _Merci_.”

As they walked through the gates, Lupa could see their standing army lined up in their neat blocks of squads, a lieutenant at the head of each column, a designated junior officer at the head of each platoon.

In front of them all, centred ahead of his men, was the Commander himself.

He was wearing his usual armour, but the sun reflecting off of what little metal was showing was blinding; he had taken even greater care than usual in polishing his plate and boots.

Lupa stopped at the bottom of the steps outside the gates, not sure where she would stand, or even sure she could emulate the precise way they were all standing. She was sure the lieutenants and the rest of the soldiers could see her, but she was out of Cullen’s field of vision.

The Templars were rounding the bend in the road, just passing the smith, and Lupa could see that they were exhausted; the one leading them must have set a hard march. They were not in careful line formations the way the Inquisition troops were, instead walking naturally in twos and threes in the large group, many dragging their feet or slumping.

It didn’t take them long to stop before Cullen, their leader stepping forward to greet him. The man took off his helmet, handing it to another soldier behind him, and Lupa immediately recognized him as the Templar she had met in Val Royeaux, the one who had been questioning the Lord Seeker.

His skin was the colour of cocoa, rich like Vivienne’s, with an exceptionally flat and wide nose, almost too-full lips, short-cropped hair, and eyes she remembered to be warm. He stood before Cullen for a full ten seconds before breaking into a wide smile and reaching out to give Cullen a rough, manly embrace, their shared laughter echoing across the valley, bouncing off the stone walls that contained the village.

When they finally broke apart, the Templar turned to look at Lupa, and Cullen turned to follow his line of sight.

“Herald!” he called, waving her over enthusiastically. She knew his eyes would be bright from the nature of his greeting with the other man, but his entire being seemed to radiate when he first saw her, and while Lupa took her time approaching, the Templar seemed to register the Commander’s change.

“Herald, allow me to introduce Knight-Lieutenant Delrin Barris of the Templar Order,” Cullen said to her formally when she reached them, and she smiled warmly at the knight in front of her when he swept into a low bow, taking her hand in a firm shake as he righted himself. “Ser Barris, allow me to formally introduce you to Lupa ‘Capitoline’ Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, and her companion Romulus.”

“It is an honour, my Lady,” Ser Barris said to her with a smile. “And you, good ser, though I know not what to call you besides your name.”

Romulus responded with a vision of a hand behind his ear, and they laughed heartily while Ser Barris complied.

“You are fortunate to have such an intelligent creature at your side, my Lady,” he told her as he withdrew his hand, setting it on his sword in a similar fashion to Cullen. “Every Fereldan knows the value of a well-trained and well-loved mabari, but I think a mabari would be terribly jealous of your Romulus.”

“Your dogs of war are nothing to be scoffed at, Ser,” Lupa countered.

“No, but they’re a far cry from massive war wolves from the time of the Second March.”

Cullen stepped in, turning their attention to business again. He explained all the details of their living arrangements, and how he hoped they would be able to help with closing the Breach after taking a few days to rest.

“I think the rest of today should be fine,” Ser Barris told them, turning to ask those Templars that were with him if they agreed; the sounds of their swords against their shields was affirmative. “If everyone else is ready for the morning, then we will be ready with them.”

“Excellent,” Cullen nodded. “The sooner we can get this done, the better.”

“Agreed,” Lupa chimed in again. “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment to make with the mages if we’re to march tomorrow. Will you be alright without me?”

“I think I can handle things from here,” Cullen answered her warmly with a smile.

“Excellent.” Lupa could feel the butterflies taking flight in her stomach again, but the sensation this time was far from comfortable; she was nervous for what would come later. “Commander, if you’re not busy after dinner, would I be able to speak with you?”

He looked at her quietly for a few seconds, his smile disappearing. He gave her a strong nod. “Of course.”

She nodded back, giving a short bow to Ser Barris, and then her and Romulus were off to find Fiona.

Romulus was deep in thought for the rest of the morning, but he didn’t mention what was on his mind until they had returned to their cottage after lunch. Lupa actually had nothing to do, now that the Templars were here and she had informed all the others that they would be marching on the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the morning, so she had asked a few workers to bring her some more fresh water for a relaxing soak.

She was just slipping in to the hot water when Rom finally spoke up, giving her a confusing jumble of scents and images.

_I’m a little lost, Rom,_ she told him, and he slowed down.

She realized he was showing her a similarity between Cullen’s usual scent and what he had picked up from Ser Barris, though whatever it was was far stronger in Barris’ scent than it was in Cullen’s.

She thought on it for a minute before realizing the smell was actually familiar to her as well, and she placed it immediately.

_Lyrium? Templars are given it to enhance their abilities, he said…_

Romulus didn’t respond; Lupa supposed he had already figured it out, and was letting her try to reason it through.

_Wait, it was weaker in him? Like he’s not taking it anymore?_

 Romulus sent a wave of affirmation across her vision.

_Isn’t that dangerous? Why would he do that to himself?_

 Rom didn’t have an answer for her, but she picked up his warning easily.

_You’re right. He would have shared if he wanted us to know._

It actually explained quite a lot: his night terrors, the way he always looked exhausted and veiny, as if his skin was almost paper-thin; maybe rubbing the back of his neck was a way to help with headaches instead of just a nervous habit, since it seemed he almost always mentioned having one.

She sat contemplating it for the next hour as she soaked, thinking it through far too thoroughly.

It was better than wondering if she would be dead tomorrow.

The last time she had tried to close that Breach, she had been out cold for three days, almost four. Granted, she had been starved (and exhausted because of that), but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have a worse time of it tomorrow.

She sat for a time in front of the fire, leaning on Romulus when she was dry, almost falling asleep a few times. She was jerked awake one such time by the signal for dinner, which sent her stomach into another flurry of uncomfortable nerves.

Lupa stood to check her outfit and her hair in the looking glass in the corner again before leaving for the Chantry to get dinner. Romulus stayed behind, leaving her alone to face her confrontation.

She had been picking at her food timidly for a few minutes when Ser Barris slipped into a seat next to her. He began to dig in, his plate piled almost as high as Bull’s usual.

“You look nervous, Herald,” he said to her between mouthfuls, and she sighed heavily.

“Last time I tried to close the Breach, I was out cold for three days, and they told me beforehand that I was dying,” she told him. “I’m a little worried about my chances of success this time around.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t an outright lie, either; so why did the stupid nerves start to flare up again in her stomach?

“Commander Rutherford seems nervous as well,” Ser Barris was saying, taking another bite from his steak. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “He’s been jumpy and moody all day.”

It took Lupa a moment to realize who he was talking about. She stayed quiet, not sure exactly what she could say in response. Ser Barris spoke up again after another couple minutes of quiet eating.

“I had a good talk with him this morning, after you left. Got caught up again. He speaks _very_ highly of you, my Lady,” he told her.

She felt a strange pride at his words, but it was the last thing she wanted to hear. “I certainly hope so,” she said, trying to sound playful and confident. “I’d say we’ve become friends; I’d be devastated to learn otherwise.”

Ser Barris chuckled, almost knowingly. “I imagine he would be, too.”

Lupa stayed quiet again, trying to concentrate on eating; she still wasn’t doing a very good job, and she gave up shortly.

“Thank you for the company, Ser,” she told the Templar next to her as she stood, taking her plate with her. Maybe Rom would be happy with what was left.

“Please, my lady, call me Delrin.”

“I suppose it would be a waste of time trying to convince you to call me something other than ‘my Lady’ or ‘Herald?’” she teased.

He laughed. “You know me so well already.”

“I shall see you in the morning, Delrin.”

“We are ready to stand with you, Herald,” he told her with a small bow.

Lupa left, carrying her plate back to her cottage with her. Romulus allowed her to stay only until he was sure dinner would be done and the Chantry would be empty again, before evicting her from their hut to go talk to Cullen.

Creators help her, but she was scared.

Lupa stood on her front step, taking a deep, steadying breath. What she was doing was necessary. She couldn’t keep stringing him along like this.

She set on foot in front of the other, swallowing her nerves as best she could as she made her way back to the Chantry.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen sat down at his desk to wait.

He was nervous about the upcoming encounter; he had steeled himself to ask her for a talk so they could figure out what was going on, and then she had swept the question out from under his feet.

He thought it should bring him comfort: clearly she wanted to explain to him what was going on, that much was clear from her tone. Instead, it had brought an impending sense of doom, his stomach twisting into knots every time he thought about it.

He got up and started to pace, his nerves spurring him to move, to do something, _anything_ other than sit idly at his desk waiting.

He even padded over to his looking glass at one point, making sure his hair was neatly in place still, fussing over his appearance, hoping he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself.

Naturally, a soft knock sounded on his door as soon as he broke from his circular pacing, and he turned around again to answer it.

She was standing there, on the other side of the door, face pale and eyes a little wide in fear. He tried to smile at her, but her face broke into a cold, forced, nervous grin he was sure mirrored his own.

“Come on in,” he invited, standing aside so she could enter, closing the door behind her with a soft _click._

He turned around to look at her again, and saw her staring at the floor, one hand flat on her stomach, the other rubbing the unpierced tip of her ear timidly.

He gave her the time she needed, watching her as she finally took a deep, shaky breath, dropping her hands, looking up at him before she started to speak.

“Cullen, I…I need to apologize,” she started, going quiet again, trying to collect herself.

“For what?” he asked her, genuinely curious, trying to think of a single thing she had done that deserved an apology.

“I… have not been kind to you, stringing you along as I have been…” she reached up to rub the ear again, her gaze finding her toes. “Creators only know what’s going to happen tomorrow, and I had to…”

“Stringing me along?” Cullen could feel his brow knitting together. What did she mean, _stringing him along?_

“Listen, Cullen, I need to just say it, get this off my chest. There’s a chance I’m going to die tomorrow, and I can’t… you deserve so much better than me,” she broke off, voice low. “You deserve better than some clueless elf mage who runs the risk of being killed at any second, or possessed at the drop of a pin… better than some martyr to a religion she barely understands. I couldn’t go out there without-”

Cullen cut her off, feeling his hurt and annoyance take over his reason. “I don’t deserve- You don’t think I know best what I deserve? Certainly not _better_ , Maker’s breath, you don’t know half of what I’ve done to know what I _deserve_.”

He could see her gaining her strength back, her own brow beginning to knit together. “I don’t care about who you _were_ , I care about who you are _now_. And who you are _now_ deserves better than a woman who’s already dead!”

Cullen took a deep breath to steady himself, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Was this why she had kept her distance? She was trying to be kind? To spare him from whatever she thought he didn’t _deserve_ , from the heartbreak if she died?

Clearly she didn’t understand that it didn’t matter.

Maker, but this woman was infuriating sometimes.

He took another deep breath, dropping his hand and opening his eyes: her defensiveness was gone, replaced by so much sadness, he could almost feel his heart breaking to pieces right there.

“I’m so sorry, Cullen… I should have…I needed to say it before we left tomorrow,” she settled on pathetically, her shoulders slumping forward.

“It’s okay,” he muttered lamely, his frustration dissolving at the image of her, so small and vulnerable in front of him.

This had hurt her as much as it had him.

“I should go,” she said, brushing past him for the door, and he let her leave, turning to watch her as she closed the door behind her without even a good night.

He stayed where he was for a moment, letting his frustration and his pain return to him in a great wave, the strength of it almost overwhelming, before walking to a nearby bookshelf and slamming his hand into the wall next to it. He had hit it with an open palm, and the pain lanced up his arm to his shoulder before settling into a dull ache in his wrist. He could feel the angry tears burning behind his eyes, but he pushed them away, some of her words replaying in his mind.

_I care about the man you are_ now.

Cullen straightened himself up, taking another steadying breath as he got himself ready for bed.

He would be nothing more than professional until the Breach was closed.

When it was done, he would prove to her that he could be what _she_ deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really hate writing army related jargon stuff, because my Navy side keeps trying to take over (I was a Sea Cadet for a looooong time) - they should be divisions and companies, not squads and platoons! 
> 
> I'm sure it wouldn't be too confusing, but also, they're not naval military, and so I had to go with army terms. Plus platoon drill is actually different... 
> 
> Long story short: I hope I got them right. 
> 
> Also, the lyrium thing: couldn't get around that loophole. Had to embrace it.


	16. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another major quest! Hooray!

Lupa and Romulus woke early the next morning, taking their time to make sure their armour was secured correctly. No one would be marching until after breakfast, but they wanted to be ready to go as soon as they were done eating.

They were summoned to the War Room before departing. Lupa was uncomfortable in the small room today, the atmosphere dour and heavy because of what had to be done.

Josephine looked almost ill with concern, her face pale, her hair and clothing attended to with less than her usual meticulous care. Leliana’s face was sharp and serious, almost cold if not for the warm worry in her eyes, her nervousness bringing out fine lines in their corners. Cassandra was staring determinedly at the map, her whole body tense, as if she could vanish in to it and wouldn’t have to continue to worry about what they were going to do.

Cullen was looking at her confidently, the corners of his eyes tight with concern as well, but he was missing his usual warmth when he looked at her; he wasn’t cold towards her, but he was nothing more than cordial. It sent a terrible shock through her.

“Are we ready to march?” she asked, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

Cullen nodded professionally from across the table. “The best of the mages and Templars are ready, Herald. Be certain you are prepared for the assault on the Breach,” he warned. “We cannot know how you will be affected.”

Lupa looked down at the map in turn before turning to Romulus at her side. She could barely see his eyes through his helm, but she knew he would be encouraging her. “Regardless of how I will be affected, this needs to be done,” she stated, followed by a heavy sigh. “Putting it off any longer doesn’t help anyone.”

“Let us go and finish this, then,” Cassandra chimed in, standing up straight and turning to nod at Lupa.

“We will be prepared for your return, Herald,” Josephine told her as calmly as she could. “Maker watch over you.”

“And you,” Lupa told her politely.

Cassandra led the way out of the War Room, Lupa and Romulus hot on her heels until they reached Solas and Dorian.

“Did you get enough to eat, lethallin?” Solas asked her immediately.

“I managed to scarf down quite a bit, surprisingly.”

“Good. I’d rather we not have a repeat of last time.”

“You and me, both,” Lupa muttered.

The trip to the Temple took longer than Lupa had anticipated, but it was only due to the sheer size of their party. Lupa and Romulus were at the head with the others, followed by the mages and Templars; occasionally they would have to wait for a few minutes for the rest of the party to catch up with them.

Considering how many people were there with her, she had never felt so small and alone as she did then, marching to what could be her death. Even Romulus felt removed from her, even though he had wriggled himself under her arm at some point during the journey, inviting her to lean on him.

Her nerves were so strong that she had to dive aside from the road at one point to spill what was left of her breakfast from her stomach. When she caught up to the others again, Dorian quietly handed her a water skin, squeezing her hands in his strongly when she reached out to take it.

She wondered if they would face another demon this time, or maybe more than one; the Pride they had dealt with last time she tried to close the Breach suddenly came tumbling into the forefront of her mind, making her palms sweat and her heart pound with the mere memory of her fear.

How she managed to put one foot in front of the other the entire way there was beyond her. She took in her companions’ serious but otherwise calm expressions at one point, wondering how they were keeping their cool: they were marching her off to her death, she was sure of it by now, and they didn’t seem to care. Not even Solas.

Lupa considered for a moment that he didn’t actually care if she died up there; he would likely just find another to educate and raise to save the people.

_You know that’s not true, Lupa._

She felt guilty for even thinking it.

Lupa started to shake when the inner sanctum of the Temple came into view, already having pulled her hood tight around her ears when they dropped back into the Temple floor with all the screaming, petrified corpses she had forgotten about.

Solas stopped them at the edge of the pit where they fought the Pride last time, turning to put a pair of strong, steady hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “You’re going to be fine, lethallin,” he told her confidently, his face stern and serious. “I am here, Dorian is here, and the mages will give you all the power you will need. The Templars will be stationed around the perimeter, as well as a few of the more senior knights with us. The worst we see is the same as last time.”

“But… what if I die?” Lupa asked weakly, her voice barely more than a shaky whisper. “Or even worse, if I get possessed?”

“The Templars can save you from possession. I cannot say for certain that you’ll survive this encounter, Lupa, but the chances of you dying here are _very_ slim.”

Dorian had a hand on the small of her back, now, and Cassandra was at Solas’ shoulder, her presence alone a source of strength Lupa didn’t know she needed until it was there.

She managed to steady herself after a few long, deep breaths. What was her life compared to all the ones who had already died here? What was it compared to all the people she would be saving by closing the hole in the Veil swirling in the sky? She was selfish to be so afraid for her own mortality when so many more innocent, helpless lives were at stake.

They must have seen her steeling herself, because Solas was nodding confidently, and they broke apart to let her lead them the rest of the way down in silence.

She stood staring up at the Breach in the sky, her right hand finding the top of Romulus’ head, wishing she could twist her hand into his fur for the extra comfort and strength it would give her. She could hear the mages and Templars filing into the Temple behind them, taking up their positions around the perimeter, a few of the Templars jumping down to stand with them.

Ser Barris was among the ones standing with Lupa in the pit, and he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly when she focused on him, before going to stand with Cassandra and Solas behind her.

When the Temple had gone quiet again, Lupa heard Solas call out his instructions to the mages who had come with them.

“Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!”

A moment later, she heard the first staff blade connecting with stone, followed by a cascade of others. She closed her eyes as the swirl of auras enveloped her, their raw power giving her goosebumps.

Lupa wasn’t even aware of shifting her stance so her feet were set wider, or of reaching up to the Breach with her left hand; the magic filling the valley was intoxicating, and she drank it in, feeling it weaving into her own aura as she fought with the very sky itself, desperately seeking purchase, gaining ground with every second.

She closed her eyes, and she could see it: bright, heavy, carved wooden doors thrown wide to a land she only recognized from a scarce memory. With every ounce of power she absorbed, she could see the doors inching shut, taking their time, struggling against her effort with all their weight.

She recognized Dorian and Solas as they wove strongly into her, their ghostly forms standing on either side of her in front of the great doors, both with brows furrowed and sweat dotting their foreheads with their concentration. It began to crawl closed a little faster then, but she felt herself starting to falter; she reached out further, drawing in more energy. There was so much of it now, it was overwhelming; Lupa half expected to burst right out of her skin with it.

That little extra was exactly what she needed, though, and the great doors suddenly slammed shut, as if a gust of wind had pushed them violently closed from the other side for her, and the shockwave of it sent her and Romulus flying backwards.

Lupa hit the ground hard, driving the air from her lungs; her aura was swept out from under her suddenly, and it took her longer than it should have to gain her breath back, sending her into a dizzy panic.

Cassandra was at her side only seconds later, extending a hand to help her up when she started to sit, a lyrium potion ready for her. She looked around at the mages in the valley, and saw the Templars distributing tiny blue bottles among the mages as well.

Romulus was picking himself up gingerly nearby, trotting back to her side when he determined he was alright; Solas and Dorian each downed a potion as they walked toward her, Dorian shaking his head slowly as if trying to clear his senses.

When Lupa looked up at the sky above her, she broke into a wide smile, a shaky, relieved laugh escaping her: there had been no demons, no deaths, nothing unexpected.

She might even call it a miracle.

“You did it,” Cassandra confirmed from beside her.

A cheer was going through the Temple, and Lupa turned to the mages and gave them a great, flourishing bow; their cheering doubled, continuing until Cassandra held up a hand to issue her orders for returning to Haven.

Their trip back was far quicker and considerably more jovial; the mages and Templars were laughing openly with each other in their gaiety, and she saw many putting aside their differences, reaching out to embrace those nearest to them in apology.

Lupa could still feel the ghost of the power she had held, and it sent shivers down her spine. There had been so much, _too much,_ and she hoped she never felt it ever again.

No one mage should _ever_ hold that much power.

When they finally made it back to Haven, the party had already started; she could hear the great commotion of laughter and drinking drifting over the short stone walls as they rounded the corner by the smith and the stables.

Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen were waiting in the doorway of the gates for them, their faces all stretching into wide smiles when Lupa and the others finally came into view at the tail of the procession. They stopped in front of them, and Josephine immediately enveloped Lupa in a rib-crushing hug, holding her there in her relief for half a minute until Leliana started to laugh at her. When she let Lupa go, she was starting to blush, clearly ashamed of her far-too-forward behaviour.

Lupa didn’t mind it at all, but now her eyes were on the Commander.

He was more relaxed than he had been earlier, his past warmth returned tenfold behind his eyes, turning her already tired and weak knees to jelly, sending the butterflies in her stomach soaring as he stared right into her.

She tried to take a step towards him (to do what, she wasn’t sure), when the unthinkable happened, and her weak knees gave out beneath her.

She was literally collapsing in front of him because of what she had seen in his eyes. What had happened to her steely resolve from the night before?

He caught her easily, hands finding her forearms as she fell, and then the dip of her waist as she righted herself, his touch sending her heart racing; she could feel her pulse between her legs, and she groaned inwardly at her involuntary reaction to him, her inner thigh muscles going taut. She carefully placed her hands on his forearms instead, giving them a grateful squeeze.

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she sighed. “I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “I think it’s nap time.”

“After lunch,” Solas told her firmly.

“We should be called to the Chantry in about half an hour, Herald,” Leliana told her, her brows threatening to get lost under the edge of her hood as she saw the way Cullen was still holding her upright. He removed one hand first, and Lupa wobbled again until his one-handed grip on her waist tightened.

“Maybe she _should_ just get some sleep,” he countered, turning to look at the Spymaster. “We can always make sure she gets food after she wakes up.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Lupa teased, laughing when Cullen started to turn red. “I’m tired, but I’m also starving, now that you mention food. I can wait until after lunch for a nap.” Her point was accentuated by a loud growl from her empty stomach.

Romulus pushed himself under Lupa’s arm again as the others smiled at her timely tummy noises, and she leaned on him, prompting Cullen to finally let her go. Her side was cold where his warm hand had been, and she shivered.

The others were dispersing, Solas stopping next to her to give her a look over and a quick ear rub before finding his way back to his hut; Dorian grabbing her free hand and giving it a warm, friendly squeeze with a wink and a cheeky grin after flashing his eyes at the Commander; Cassandra had put her hand on Lupa’s shoulder kindly as she brushed past her into the town.

Josephine and Leliana were the last to leave, hooking their arms together and bending their heads close together as they whispered inaudibly, leaving her and Romulus standing alone with Cullen.

He let out a short sigh, running his fingers through his blonde curls. “I was so scared,” he told her, and when he looked up at her again, she could see the ghost of pain in his eyes. “You were talking about dying again last night, and I…”

“I was terrified, too. I was almost positive I wouldn’t survive,” she admitted to him.

“You’re okay, though?”

“I’m okay,” she confirmed as strongly as she could. “Just tired, and hungry.”

“I… I won’t keep you then,” he muttered.

Lupa felt her brow knitting. “You’re not keeping me from anything.” When he didn’t answer her immediately, she reached out to grab his forearm again. “Thank you for your concern.”

He was looking through her again, thoughts and emotions swirling behind his eyes so she could barely make them out. When he finally gave her a tight grin and a nod, she dropped her hand, willing herself back under control with little success.

“Go, enjoy the celebrations for now,” she told him. “I’ll find you later.”

“Sleep well, Lupa.”

“Since when am I Lupa?”

He clearly had no idea he had slipped, freezing in the middle of his retreat for a moment as her words washed over him. He said nothing, only looking over his shoulder at her, and she saw her answer in his eyes, sending a shiver down her spine again, before he continued on his way.

She had no concrete idea where his sudden surge of confidence came from, but she could guess, and she cursed herself inwardly.

If he was so determined to have her, she wasn’t sure she had the strength in her to deny him again.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen found himself in the secluded back room of the Chantry when he left her, for the first time in too long. He almost felt guilty for neglecting his faith as he had, but after everything that had happened to him, he wasn’t sure how much he truly had left.

He took his time lighting the candles and incense in the tiny room before prostrating himself in front of the giant statue of Andraste. The Chant fell from his lips automatically, but he paid little attention to the mumbled words coming from him.

_Those who oppose thee_

_Shall know the wrath of heaven._

_Field and forest shall burn,_

_The seas shall rise and devour them,_

_The wind shall tear their nations_

_From the face of the earth,_

_Lightning shall rain down from the sky,_

_They shall cry out to their false gods,_

_And find silence._

“She certainly is a force of nature, is she not?” came a familiar voice from close behind him.

Cullen turned to find Mother Giselle standing a few feet away, her expression serious but serene. She regarded him with a small smile on her lined face before finding a seat on a nearby bench, inviting him to join her.

He rose slowly to join her, settling in a friendly but respectable distance away from the Revered Mother. His eyes were still glued on the statue of Andraste in front of them when she continued to speak.

“She must be, or she would fall before those who revere her.” Of course this woman would see right through him, too. Was he truly so readable? “It is good to see you here again, young man,” Mother Giselle was continuing. “It has been too long since you sought guidance.”

This time she let the silence hang comfortably for many minutes until he answered her. “I’m sure you know of everything that’s happened to me, Mother,” he started, looking at her finally to see her nodding before looking away again. “When the Maker has put you through as many trials as I have been through, it can shake your faith to the core.”

“But she has given it back to you.”

It was not a question.

“She doesn’t even believe in our faith, Mother.”

“That is beside the point,” Giselle replied immediately, her voice soft as it always was. “The Maker and His Bride have many ways of showing us their plan, Commander. It is not always where we expect to find His Hand that He shows Himself to us.” She reached out to rest her hand maternally on his, prompting him to look at her again. “Perhaps this is His way of rewarding you for your hardships. Perhaps this is your gift from Him for your faith. Do not give up now.”

“Who said I was giving up?” he asked suddenly before even considering his words.

She was smiling at him again. “The only one whose voice matters in that respect, Commander, is your own.”

She was gathering herself up next to him, giving him nothing more than another small, warm smile as she left him sitting alone with Andraste and the confusing swirl of emotions she had evoked in him.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa napped for a few hours after lunch, feeling refreshed and whole again when she woke.

She slipped into a bath for a short while to clean the dirt of her stress and the road from earlier away, sitting in front of the fire to dry until the dinner bell signalled across the town.

The residents of Haven were all in excellent spirits when she stepped out of her cottage toward the Chantry; the only thing keeping many of them from grabbing at her in reverence was the giant wolf stalking peacefully but protectively at her side. Instead, they followed her with loud cheers and worshipful proclamations that made her skin itch.

Her companions and advisors saved her when she entered the Chantry, seated all around her usual spot at the tables so the people wouldn’t be able to bother her as much. With Romulus at her back, she found she could eat in peace.

She stayed behind for a short while after she was done, giving everyone else time to disperse before she left. When she finally stepped outside again, she spotted Cassandra standing on the ledge behind the Quartermaster’s tent, looking down on the bonfire Varric preferred.

There were many people, drinking, dancing, singing, laughing: their researcher and the apothecary among them. Cassandra regarded them indifferently, turning to look at Lupa as she stopped next to her.

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” the Seeker informed Lupa academically. “The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering Rifts, and many questions remain, but… this was a victory.” She was smiling at her now, warmly. “Word of your heroism has spread.

Lupa laughed openly. “You call my pathetic display there ‘heroism?’”

“Certainly,” Cassandra countered immediately, her expression deadly serious. “You feared for your life, and yet you stood up and did what must be done for the good of the world anyway. If that is not heroism, I am not sure what is.”

“You are too kind,” Lupa muttered, letting them fall silent for a few moments. “We still don’t know what caused this. We can’t afford to rest easy now.”

“I agree. One success does not guarantee peace, but the immediate threat is gone. For some, so is the necessity of this alliance,” Cassandra told her, her voice taking on a hard edge. “We must be wary. The Inquisition would benefit from a new focus.”

Lupa nodded, just about respond, when she noticed the faint light of fires blinking in the mountains. She only had time to furrow her brow in worry when warning bells and horns were sounding all around then, and the laughter and song turned to screams and panic; she saw soldiers scrambling for their effects, Cullen rushing out of the Chantry behind her with a bellow.

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

Cassandra, as always, was prepared; Lupa and Romulus were not.

They leapt off the ledge, running for their cottage. Lupa could easily slip into her armour in a matter of moments. Solas appeared at her open door as she began to fumble with Rom’s clasps, cursing loudly when she couldn’t get them fastened quickly enough.

“Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian are out there waiting for you, Little One,” he told her hurriedly. “I will fix Romulus and send him to you. Go.”

She just nodded, grabbing Romulus under the chin to kiss the top of his snout before snatching up her staff and running out to meet the others, who were standing with the Advisors in front of the gates.

Cullen nodded professionally at her when she joined them. “One watchguard reporting,” he told her without her needing to ask. “It’s a massive force, the bulk of it over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, scandalized.

“None.”

Lupa frowned deeply.

“None?”

The gate was shaking, the lights of fire flashing behind it, and Lupa could hear death on the other side. She collected herself into a prepared stance, her staff in hand, ready to spin, when the lights went dark and a young man’s voice cried out from the other side of the great wooden doors.

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

Lupa started forward, staff still in hand, and pushed at the gates: the door opened to show a warrior holding a large axe with Tevinter embroidery on his armour’s standard. He stopped suddenly, and Lupa saw blood spurt out from behind him. When he dropped dead, she saw the young man who must have called out to them: he was wearing a hat with a ridiculously wide brim, his clothing a ramshackle mismatch of heavy patches and poorly fitting pieces, holding two long, bloody daggers.

She rushed towards the young man, the sound of Cullen’s heavy boots following her, along with the sound of Romulus’ scale and plate clanking together as he caught up.

The man in the wide-brimmed hat looked up at her, and she could see that he was barely into his twenties; his skin was pale and thin, eyes a little watery but piercing, a fringe of straw-like, stringy blonde hair falling over them.

“I’m Cole,” he told them, his words coming out clearly but in a rush. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You… probably already know,” he settled on after lunging toward her dramatically, his brow knitting together.

“What is this?” she asked quickly. “What’s going on?”

“The Templars come to kill you,” he told her simply.

Cullen stepped in front of her toward Cole, his sword drawn; the boy managed to step away before the Commander managed to stick him, but Lupa could see he was furious. “Templars? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cullen was looking at Lupa, but it was Cole who answered him. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you,” he looked at Lupa again. “You took his mages.” He flourished again, pointing toward a vantage point a little way up the road. “There.”

A man was already standing there watching, wearing the same armour Cullen had been wearing in the perverted future she had seen, his hair thinning the same way his had; the mystery man was sneering at them confidently.

“I know that man,” Cullen said, his voice low and dangerous. “But this Elder One…”

He appeared out of smoke over the Red Templar’s shoulder, and Lupa blanched.

There was red lyrium growing _out of his face_ ; there was no _way_ that was healthy. He stood easily head and shoulders taller than the man at his side, his figure barely more than skin and bones in ragged Tevinter-style robes quite unlike the kind usually worn by her favourite Vint. His smaller features were hard to distinguish at this distance, but she could see his lips twisting into a cocky grin not unlike the one on the Templar’s face beside him.

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages,” Cole said as he stepped in between Cullen and Lupa, his voice sad.

“Cullen,” she demanded, her voice little more than a terrified plea. “give me a plan. Anything!”

He turned to look at her again, and she saw something shifting behind his eyes; he was shedding himself, putting on the armour of the Commander, preparing himself for the battle ahead. “Haven is no fortress,” he told her with a small shake of his head. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” His gaze found one of their few standing trebuchets, and she saw the gears turning in his head. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.”

Lupa nodded confidently at him, but he was already drawing his sword again (when had he put it away?) and was turning his back to her to address the men and women who had gathered behind them in front of the gates.

“Mages!” he called out, voice booming. “You have sanction to engage them! That-” he stopped to take a short, frustrated breath, “is Samson. He will _not_ make it easy.” He was spinning to face her again, sword raised high as he reached for the shield on his back. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives – for all of us!”

A great cry sounded from behind them, and then the entirety of their force was charging past her and Romulus as she fought against them to find the others again, finding them waiting just inside the gates and waving them down into the fray.

The fighting was difficult, but not unmanageable; Lupa cringed every time she saw one of their men go down, but there was nothing they could do about it.

They helped hold off the forces around the nearest trebuchet until it could fire. When the stone launched, it hit the mountainside high above where the forces were marching down; Lupa thought they had missed, until she saw the cloud of snow that was sliding down to smother a good amount of the rear of the column.

“You get to the other trebuchet – it isn’t firing!” yelled one of the soldiers, and Lupa immediately led the others up the road.

The firing squad was dead, and the trebuchet was almost overrun with Red Templars; they made quick work of them, taking their time to aim between the waves, until a huge, hulking red lyrium monster started to stalk toward them.

Lupa continued to aim while the others took care of the monster, joining them when she was done, trying to shock it until Dorian yelled at her to use fire.

With both of them burning it, they were able to take it down fairly quickly; it shattered when it died, spraying them with red lyrium crystals.

Romulus dove out from underneath it as it started to fall, making it back to Lupa’s side in mere seconds. Lupa and Dorian were far enough away to be mostly safe, and Cassandra ducked behind her shield instinctively, but Sera almost got a faceful, barely managing to turn her back to it and curl up in time.

“Everyone okay?” Lupa called out.

They all shouted their affirmative, and she turned to fire the trebuchet.

They watched in silence as the boulder flew and connected with another mountainside, cheering loudly when it brought the snow tumbling down on the rest of the Red Templar forces.

Their celebration was cut short by a loud, high screech as a High Dragon flew overhead, spitting a mouthful of red lyrium fire into their midst, causing the trebuchet they were standing at to explode.

“ _Fenedhis,”_ Lupa swore, turning on her heel and fleeing back to the village gates.

She stopped to help Harritt on the way; he was trying to get into the storage cottage next to his smithing station, mumbling something about a hammer. She didn’t pay too much attention, breaking the boxes in front of the door apart with more fire before heading past the stables, turning back when she realized the horses and her hart were still locked inside. 

She unlocked their gates one-by-one, the others helping her; they charged out in a terror, and Dorian almost got trampled. Cullen's palomino waited with Lupa until Ellana was free, and then the two of them charged out together. 

She saw them charging together past the usual training ground toward the mountains when she left the stables behind, glad that they would be able to get away from the fighting. 

Cullen was standing at the gates when they reached them, beckoning their remaining soldiers, trying to get everyone into the safety behind the village walls. Lupa and Romulus were the last in, and they joined the others in pushing the great wooden door shut with an ominous _boom_.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against – that _beast,”_ Cullen said as he walked past her, turning around again to look at her when she didn’t immediately begin to follow him. He sighed heavily, his expression deadly serious. “At this point, just make them work for it.” He had turned around and sped up the rest of the stairs, leaving them to their fate.

“The villagers will need help if they are to survive this,” Dorian said quietly.

No one said anything in response, instead working on scouring the village for those who could be saved.

They entered the Chantry ten minutes later with everyone they had been able to save; it was mostly head workers who had needed help, but they managed to make it. Lupa was exhausted, her mana replenishing slowly, her arms shaking from the constant spin of her staff, her legs like jelly from their exertions keeping her out of harm’s way.

Dorian handed her a lyrium potion, and they uncorked and drank together after clinking the little glass bottles together.

Cole had been with Chancellor Roderick as the bitter man had opened the doors, letting everyone in. When Lupa finished her potion and turned around, she saw Cole trying to hold up the collapsed Chancellor.

“He tried to stop a Templar,” Cole explained as he threw the Chancellor’s arm over his shoulder. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

They were walking towards a chair, and Cole dropped him into it, kneeling by his side.

“What a charming boy,” Roderick muttered under his breath.

“Herald!” Cullen was rounding the corner, jogging to meet her, his expression stern. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back whatever time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon,” Cole said evenly. “I was in the Fade, but it looked just like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen shot back, perhaps more harshly than he intended in his stress. “It’s carved a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald,” Cole countered.

“I don’t care right now what he wants, Cole,” Lupa told the poor boy, trying to be as kind as possible. He reminded her of another child in her Clan, one who had a difficult time understanding body language and voice tone properly. They had been very careful in the way they spoke to him, and she realized she would need to employ that same tactic here. “How do I stop him?”

“It won’t be easy. He has a Dragon.”

Lupa almost wanted to laugh.

“We know what he-” Cullen started, then let out an angry huff and turned back to her. The tiniest hint of a plea coloured his voice. “Lupa, there are no tactics to make this survivable.” He sighed again, this time long and drawn-out. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide…”

“But we’re overrun,” Lupa told him, her brow knitting in concern. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying,” Cullen told her, his tone of voice flat and final, “but we can decide how. Many don’t get that chance.”

“Yes, that…” Cole muttered next to them, drawing their attention again. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to tell you before he dies.”

The man’s voice was laboured, but he was telling them something about a ‘summer pilgrimage’ and faith, how maybe she was more than he had given her credit for.

All Lupa cared about was that there was a way out of the Chantry.

“What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly, _if_ he shows us the path,” Cullen nodded, hope igniting behind his eyes again for a brief moment before going dead again. “But… what of your escape?”

Lupa turned away from him, unable to tell him what they both knew to be the truth. Romulus leaned on her side, and she placed a hand on the top of his head.

“Maybe you’ll surprise it… Find a way…” Cullen murmured, his pain evident, but when she turned around again, he was already issuing orders, organizing the people to follow the Chancellor.

Cole had his hand around the man’s waist again, Roderick’s arm thrown over Cole’s shoulders. They stopped in front of her, and Roderick’s expression was the warmest Lupa had ever seen it.

“Herald… if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, then I pray for you,” he told her, his voice laboured. “I’m sorry.”

Romulus stepped forward and gave the man’s hand a dry lick, the air thick with his forgiveness. Lupa could do nothing more than nod.

Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian were still with her, moving toward the heavy Chantry doors.

“You don’t really think we’d let you go out there on your own, do you? More daft than you look if you do,” Sera threw at her when she tried to protest.

There were a handful of soldiers charging past her, throwing the doors open wide and charging back into the village.

“They’ll load the trebuchets,” Cullen explained from behind her. Lupa turned, only half paying attention to him, instead taking the time to drink in the image of him there, since it would be the last time she saw him: his armour, usually polished to blinding, dented and scratched, covered in blood and gore; his stance tall and strong, wearing the weight of Commander with apparent ease; his hair matted from his fancy snarling lion helm, curls falling out of their careful coif, being pressed back into place by a gloved hand; face all hard lines, but honey eyes showing his inner turmoil, his duty and responsibility fighting with his desires, his heart breaking visibly before her. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline. If we are to have a chance – if _you_ are to have a chance… let that thing _hear_ you.”

Lupa watched him until he was down the corridor and out of sight, Romulus pulling away from her and startling her out of her reverie. She turned to follow him, squaring her shoulders, setting aside her own breaking heart and finding the steel she had worn in Redcliffe, the resolve she had donned that morning in the Temple.

There were people relying on her to save them, and there was only one way she and her friends would be able to do that.

She had a dragon to bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun. Also very long. We're getting to the turning points! So excited to get to it. This fic has been far too PG so far.


	17. The Dawn Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another longer than usual.

_“GO!”_

He shouldn’t, wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ leave her there all alone, but her cry to him had been both physical and mental, and he was charging away from her with a whine to follow the others against his better judgement.

_Stay with them, Rom. Keep them safe. Help Cullen… Ar lath…_

She was fading, but she was still alive, he could feel it; the emptiness from Redcliffe hadn’t seeped into him yet, even though he was so far away now.

The Storm, the Moustache, and Miss Crazy were next to him, chests heaving when they finally stopped over the treeline and turned back to look at the town below them as they heard the snap of the trebuchet, watching as the snow engulfed the entire valley.

Romulus howled, long, loud, and low, when the dragon picked itself up and winged away before the snow could reach it. When he finally fell silent, he laid down in the snow and closed his eyes to concentrate.

“Romulus, we need to go. The weather’s turning foul, we need to catch up with the others or we’ll freeze,” the Moustache was saying, and Romulus almost snapped at the man when he put a hand on the armour between Romulus’ shoulder blades.

He asked for just a moment to search, and they fell silent, allowing him what he needed. When he picked himself up again a minute later, he wagged his tail slowly but hopefully.

He heard their collective sighs of relief, ready to charge back into the snow, to dig her out himself if he needed to; she was weak, but she was there, and he was afraid that if she didn’t get immediate help, she wouldn’t make it.

“Romulus, I’m so sorry,” the Storm said behind him, and he turned to look at her over his shoulder. “We won’t make it in time, and there is a chance more snow could come down on top of us.” The air was thick with fear, pain, and exhaustion; he was finding it hard to tell which belonged to who, but he saw the expression of pain on the Storm’s face. “She would not wish us to fall now, after all she’s given.”

“Come on, you smelly mutt. We need to catch up with the others before we freeze our tits off, yeah?”

“Speak for yourself,” the Moustache muttered, prompting a reluctant laugh from Romulus.

He hung his head, whimpering quietly as they did their best to follow the main force. There was a blizzard setting in: the wind starting to whip up around them, snow driving, making it hard to see where they were going, covering whatever scent Romulus would have been able to use to help them stay on track.

After a while, he picked up the distant sound of boots crunching in the snow, and he stopped to howl again, letting the others know they were making progress.

It was only minutes later when Romulus felt the faint touches of the Wolf Father’s aura, stretching out his own in response, and he heard muted voices ahead calling out to each other.

The Fortress, the one she would call Cullen, was charging toward them, the Wolf Father hot on his heels with a small company of soldiers and the Crow Mother. They stopped in front of them, the Fortress searching their faces quietly, his pain and guilt suddenly overwhelming when he looked at Romulus and heard his low, pained howl.

“ _No…”_

Romulus paid little attention to what was happening now; the others were moving ahead to meet the main company down in the shelter behind a couple of mountains, where the worst of the blizzard would blow past them.

The Fortress was rooted to the spot, but Romulus was exhausted and hurting, wanting nothing more than to get out of his heavy, cold armour, barely picking up his paws as he made to follow the others at a distance.

He turned to look over his shoulder when he heard the Fortress drop to his knees in the snow, his hands balled up in fists in front of him on his thighs, his shoulders shaking, the sound of sniffling barely audible even to Rom’s sensitive ears.

He turned back toward the man, who was clearly beside himself with grief, wondering how this human seemed more upset than his Wolf Father had been; Fen’Harel had barely even furrowed his brow when they came back without her, but this human was so pained, he hadn’t been able to stay on his feet?

Rom sat in front of the man, pressing his forehead to the top of his head; he looked up quickly, surprised by the contact. There were tear tracks down the man’s face, and it was screwed up in grief. Rom wished again that he was out of his armour; soft fur was far more comforting than sharp scale and plate.

The One She Called Cullen must have heard him and understood, because his hands relaxed from the tense fists on his knees and began unbuckling and untying everything, letting Romulus’ armour fall into the snow. His helmet was the last to go, and when it did, he dragged the side of his face against one of the man’s wet cheeks, trying to dry it.

He did his best to explain that she was weak, but not gone. As the images and sensations fell from him, he saw hope igniting in the Fortress’ eyes, drying his tears and relaxing his face.

“If she is out there, Romulus, then I promise we will find her,” the man in front of him swore, voice low but passionate, and Romulus was grateful that she had found someone who cared for her so deeply.

He stood in front of Romulus after another minute, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself, sending a cloud out of his mouth when he exhaled. He bent down to retrieve Rom’s armour for him, carrying it back to the camp, and Romulus followed, taking his place at Cullen’s side as he normally would his Lupa.

She had asked him to help this man, and he refused to disregard what could be her last words to him.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen was surprised to note that Romulus stuck to his side like glue, leaning on him and interacting with him much the same way he would have with Lupa.

It did little to quell his guilt, but he appreciated the effort.

He had sent her out, knowing _full well_ the chances of survival sat somewhere between _supremely good luck_ and _divine intervention_.

It seemed like it was an Age ago that she was expressing concern about dying at the Temple. Instead she had died buried under snow in her home.

Romulus reassured him time and time again that she felt alive, but he wouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own two eyes.

He sat with a torch near the valley’s entrance, hoping the bright light would show her if she was able to reach them; if she didn’t return by the time the blizzard was calmed, he would take parties out to search.

The others slowly trickled over to sit with him quietly: Solas was first, sitting down on Romulus’ other side, massaging the wolf’s ear in the same way Lupa always would; Cassandra and Varric wandered over together, standing off to his left quietly, a strange kind of tension between them; Leliana wandered over to check on them a few times before leaving them to their vigil; Dorian was pacing behind Cullen; Bull could be heard cutting down trees nearby, and Sera was loosing what arrows she had left violently at another nearby tree. Blackwall had kept his distance, but was keeping himself busy by building fires and tending to what horses they had found on their way up, including Mia and Ellana, who had been waiting in the valley peacefully for them; Vivienne was attempting to help with healing where she could. They were the only two to keep their distance.

They sat there for over an hour, but to Cullen it felt like an eternity. His eyes burned, he was exhausted, but he refused to look away, in case she somehow stumbled into the valley-

Romulus picked himself up with a loud yelp, and then Cullen was on his feet, surging ahead, Cassandra and Solas hot on his heels.

“There!” he shouted, his relief an overwhelming cascade. “It’s her!”

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra breathed beside him.

She was alive.

But she was collapsing in the snow in front of him, driven to her knees, one hand holding her staff in a death grip, knuckles white, the other holding her side; her aura was completely gone; snow was built up in her hair, on her eyebrows and lashes, obscuring the pair of red eyes inked into her forehead; her skin was a scary shade of pale, her lips faintly blue, her real eyes closing.

He scooped her up immediately, and her eyes fluttered open again to look at him. They were unfocused, but very much alive, and he had never been so relieved by a simple sight in his entire life.

“Cullen?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.

Someone was unbuckling his fur mantle, throwing it over her and tucking it in so it wouldn’t fall off. “I’m right here,” he told her, voice low and personal. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

She was trying to smile, but her eyes were closing again. She didn’t respond to him.

“Lupa?” he asked, voice panicked.

“We need to get her a cot, Commander, and our other mages. She will require a lot of healing,” Solas told him, and Cullen began to move.

There was a flurry of activity, and less than ten minutes later, Lupa was surrounded by Vivienne, Dorian, Solas, Grand Enchanter Fiona, and Mother Giselle. He had been shut out from her, but Romulus stayed with him instead of going to her side, reassuring him that she was strengthening and stabilizing. The mages stayed with her for almost half an hour working, going through so many lyrium potions he wondered how none of them had been ill yet.

Vivenne was the first to rise, an accomplished smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she smoothed her robes out, leaving the others, followed very shortly afterwards by Fiona. Dorian got up gingerly, leaning over her to check her temperature, saying something quietly to Mother Giselle as Solas stood and closed his eyes for a moment, leaving the tent ahead of the Tevinter, who was walking towards him now.

“We’ve done all we can for her, Commander,” Dorian informed him, his tone tired and worried, but firm. “We all feel that she should be fine, but she needs to sleep the rest of it off, particularly her mana depletion. It could be anywhere from hours to days before she opens her eyes again.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” he managed, his throat aching with the threat of relieved tears.

The Tevinter simply nodded, walking away after giving Romulus a light ruffle behind one of his ears, and the wolf immediately charged at the tent, leaping up into the sturdy cot with Lupa.

Cullen followed, laughing heartily at Mother Giselle’s disapproving expression. When she heard him, her expression softened. “It makes this old heart glad to know my words are not always lost to deaf ears.”

She was standing slowly, and Cullen didn’t respond. When she looked at him, she smiled, her expression warm. She patted his cheek gently, and then she was leaving, giving him time with her that he so desperately needed.

Cullen reached out for her hand tentatively, holding it next to her on the cot lightly while she slept, unaware of how much time was passing; his other hand fussed over her occasionally, checking her temperature, brushing her hair away from her face gently when a breeze would blow through the open tent face, happy to simply know that she was alive and would recover. It felt good to put aside his responsibilities for a while and indulge in his whims.

Tears began to fall again when his guilt overwhelmed him for what seemed the millionth time that night, but they were quiet, and he brushed them away with his free hand when he felt them starting to freeze on his cheeks.

He fell asleep at one point, jumping upright from where he had pressed his forehead to their clasped hands as someone touched his shoulder lightly.

Solas was standing over him. “I am sorry to take you away from her, Commander, but the Seeker and Lady Nightingale request your company.”

Cullen nodded, looking down at the unconscious elf in front of him for another few seconds before attempting to move-

Her hand clamped painfully tight around his own as soon as he tried to disentangle it, and he sat glued, afraid to move in case she needed help, suddenly remembering the last time he had visited her while she was ill; she wasn’t going to go into one of _those_ fits now, with Solas here? But her hand was relaxing less than a minute later, and he reluctantly pulled his own from her grasp unchallenged this time.

“I should warn you, Commander, that tempers are running short,” Solas continued, taking his seat when Cullen stood. “I only wish to spend a few moments with her, and then I will do what I can to help.”

“Take your time,” Cullen told the hedge mage with a quiet sigh. “It’s not like we have anywhere to go from here.”

“That is what I wish to help with,” Solas replied evenly as Cullen took his leave.

When Cullen left the tent, he stepped out of view for a moment to gather himself again, donning the title of Commander once more before seeking out the others, steeling himself for the preparations to come.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas waited until he knew Cullen was gone before letting his aura stretch to speak with Romulus.

He was met with a wave of cautious disapproval from the wolf at his Little One’s side.

_What is wrong?_

There was a jumble of sensations and thoughts and emotions, but they finally settled on his indifferent expression when they had shown up without her.

_The others do not understand the nature of our relationship, Romulus. Remember, they do not know who I am._

There were images of the others seeing the two of them together, laughing, talking, arm-in-arm as they explored the countryside together after setting up camp for the night.

Perhaps he had schooled himself too much, in retrospect; Romulus made a fair point, and it seemed to have distressed him unduly.

_Ir abelas._

Solas pulled his aura in tight again, focusing on making sure she was comfortable, letting his mind wander for a time. It was true that they had become closer in their time here together, perhaps to the point of calling each other friends. She had taken to the world of shemlen better than expected, though not without challenges. She had clearly begun to see all these people as her own, now, instead of simply her kin.

It made him a little uncomfortable.

But he cared for her still, and this was far from over; Corypheus still had his foci, and he would need to get it back in order to continue with his plans to save the People. She was now the only one who could help with that.

He’d had a suspicion that this _Elder One_ everyone had been talking about was the one who he’d manipulated into unlocking his orb’s power. To claim knowledge of him before he had revealed himself would have put Solas in a difficult place.

He felt less guilt than he knew he should at the knowledge, but he cared little for these people; it might be a selfish outlook, but he was here strictly for his orb. The fact that it had been his Little One who had been scarred by it was a strange but not entirely unpleasant coincidence.

If he was going to help anyone here, it would be her.

He watched as a small smile stretched across her face briefly, and he wondered who she was dreaming about this time.

Solas picked himself up to leave, smoothing out his shirt as he left her and Romulus alone in the tent, hoping his dreaming would be as pleasant as hers.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_She was ten years old._

_Her and Owain were sitting beneath a great maple, eating apples together one night. She watched him, enthralled, as he told her about all the things he had learned about trading from his father that day. They were essentially inconsequential, but she let him talk for as long as he liked; she was starting to feel the first flight of butterflies in her stomach when he was around, the sound of his voice like the wind they needed to stay aloft, his smile the predator that sent them scurrying._

_He asked her how her training as First was going, and she told him enthusiastically about the lessons she had gone through that day, feeling heat creeping into her face with the intensity of his gaze on her._

_By the time she was done, they had both finished their snack and tossed their cores into the woods._

_Lupa looked at Owain again, remembering the way they had stared at each other, the tension heavy between them, but something wasn’t quite right-_

_“Owain?” she asked her voice small and high._

_His smile stretched on his face again, his voice much deeper and quiet as he looked at her with strange, glowing eyes full of love. “Lupa. I’ve missed you.”_

_“What – what are you doing here, Owain? What’s going on?” Lupa asked in her young voice, trying to force him into his true form._

_Instead of twisting into a demon, he changed to his mature form, the way he had looked on the day he died. He looked solid at first, but when he moved to brush his knuckles across her cheek, she saw the way the light played through him._

_“You should have moved on by now. What are you still doing here?” she asked again. “Creators, I’ve missed you so much – if I had known you were here…”_

_“It’s for the best that you didn’t, vhenan,” he told her softly, and she knew he was right. Suddenly all of her guilt came crashing down on her at once, a remembrance of soft, gold curls clawing to the forefront of her mind._

_Lupa was sure he could feel it from her, but his smile widened and he reached out again to hold her hands. “I’m so happy for you, vhenan,” he whispered. “I don’t understand your guilt, but it must mean that someone has caught your attention?”_

_She could barely see their rings glittering on her right hand beneath his grip; she hadn’t forgotten about him, she never would. But when Cullen was around, he was all she could think about. And when he wasn’t around…_

_“Lupa, I know it’s not easy for you; I could never imagine having to move on without you. But I want you to be happy. He does that, doesn’t he? Takes care of you? Treats you like the Queen you deserve to be?”_

_That he had used a shemlen term was not lost on her, but it was truly appropriate. “He does,” she confirmed for him, her voice breaking at the admission._

_But his smile was so wide and genuinely warm, she thought his face might split in two. “Then why do you feel guilt? Why do you fight it? I want you to be happy.”_

_She stared at him, trying to see him as she did when he was alive, but he evoked nothing in her more than what she might feel when she came home from the road and greeted her friends for the first time in a few weeks._

_“Will it make you feel better to have my blessing, vhenan?”_

_Lupa shook her head, a smile finally starting to creep onto her own face, a calming sense of peace coming over her. She loved him still, she was sure, but she had moved on._

_He nodded at her, releasing one of her hands to put a soft palm on her cheek. “I have stayed here a long time, Lupa. I think I am changing into a spirit. It feels like Compassion,” he told her, voice low again. “I have been slowly losing my memories of life. I’m sorry to say that most of the memories I have of our partnership are already gone.” His face was twisting with sadness, and she reached up to put her hand over his on her face, squeezing it strongly. “But I remember you. And I remember that I loved you. I hope it’s the last thing I lose, if I have to lose it at all.”_

_“Owain…”_

_“I should leave you,” he continued softly. “But I felt you here, and I needed to see you one last time. Ar lath,” he almost whispered, his body beginning to fade away. “Do not be afraid. Let him love you.”_

_And with that, he was gone, leaving her sitting in her ten-year-old body under the towering maple, before the Fade began to twist and spin in a dizzying whirl of colours, whisking her away from her closure._

_*                             *                             *_

_This time, she was herself, the usual outsider looking in._

_Lupa leaned against the trunk of a young pine, smiling at the scene before her._

_Her Father was dreaming._

_He looked well, twenty odd years younger; her Mother was there, too. Her three year old self was seated between them, a large tome sitting open on her lap._

_She couldn’t hear what they were all saying, but she had a vague memory of them teaching her to read; she had been a quick study, but they taught her both Elvhen and the Thedosian standard language at the same time, and she would frequently get the two confused._

_She saw her Mother and Father lean behind her younger self to steal a quick kiss and warm smiles, before her Father looked up and spotted her watching at the treeline. He put a hand on her little shoulder, saying something to her Mother, and then he was on his feet, walking steadily but purposefully towards her._

_She ran to him, and they threw their arms around each other, her Father locking her into a tight embrace, refusing to let her go even after a few minutes._

_The longer Lupa stayed there, the more the weight of her station seemed to fall on her shoulders, and she suddenly found herself crying hysterically into his shoulder while he rubbed soothing circles into her back, smoothing her hair between her shoulder blades, just standing there and letting her work all her grief out._

_When she ran dry, she pulled back to look at him, and he dried her cheeks off with his sleeve. “I’ve missed you so much, baby,” he told her quietly. “I thought it was strange that your aura was all around, when you were only three in this dream and you didn’t surface until five.”_

_“You should be careful, papae,” she warned him. “I could be a Desire or Sloth in disguise.”_

_“I would know the real you anywhere.” He directed her back to his spot next to her tiny self, and she sat in the grass in front of him. “Tell me about everything, baby. Looks like you need to get some things off your chest.”_

_She did, taking her time, waxing eloquent on her travels to the Conclave and everything that had happened since, leaving only one small detail out._

_Her Father was sharp as a nail. “It sounds like someone has caught your attention,” he asked lightly, brows raised._

_She blanched, afraid of what he might think or say when she showed him the human she had come to care so much for._

_“He makes me so happy, papae,” she told him first, her voice carefully controlled. “He treats me like I’m the only woman in the world.”_

_“You always did attract honourable sorts,” he laughed. “Are you incapable of showing me what he looks like? Or giving me a name? I know you’re capable of both, I’ve seen you conjuring your figures to tell your tales.”_

_She sighed, collecting herself for the potential backlash she would receive before weaving Cullen’s image into the air beside her. “You remember me speaking about the Commander?” she asked nervously._

_But he was smiling mischievously (she had certainly received that talent from him). “Oh, a round-ear? Since when did you become a fan of exotics?”_

_She let out a breathy laugh, her relief palpable. “They’re not exactly exotic outside of a Clan, papae,” she teased._

_“Well, all I know is the Clan, so it’s exotic to me,” he retorted, playing offended. “You looked worried, baby.”_

_“You know some of the People see mating with a shem to be a grave insult. I didn’t know how you felt about it, so…”_

_“You said he makes you happy?” he asked seriously, and she nodded confidently at him. “And he treats you well?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“That is all I care about.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps when you find a new home, I can make the trip to visit. Owain’s parents miss you, too, you know, as does the Keeper. And I’d love to meet this new pet of yours”_

_Something was shifting around them, and Lupa was vaguely aware of outside voices carrying to her. She would wake soon._

_“Say hello to them for me, papae,” she told him hurriedly, jumping up to give him another quick, strong hug. “I think I’m waking up. I love you. I hope you can come visit soon.”_

_“I love you too, baby. Come see me again when you’ve found a new home.”_

_She wanted to respond, but he faded away in her arms, leaving her in the dark as she struggled to the surface again, the voices becoming louder with each passing second._

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa woke with a groan, trying to sit up-

She was pushed back down by a gentle hand, and she looked over to see Mother Giselle at her bedside.

“Shh, you need rest,” she said, but Lupa pushed against her hand again, and this time the Revered Mother allowed her to prop herself up on her arm. She felt terribly weak, and her head was pounding, but it was a vast improvement over the exhaustion and dead numbness she had fought off to make it here.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” she countered, perfectly aware of how long it had taken her to finally fight to the surface again, listening to them all the while.

“They have that luxury, thanks to you.” Giselle’s soft voice was soothing, for once. Lupa was not fond of the woman; she held a great deal of insight, but she also held a good number of prejudices as well, ones that made Lupa’s skin itch. “The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.” She sighed quietly. “Infighting may threaten as much as this _Corypheus_.”

“The only thing arguing gets us is a headache,” Lupa muttered, her voice clipped as a sharp pain lanced through her head at the words. “ _Another_ headache.”

“They know,” Giselle answered, shaking her head slowly. “But our situation – _your_ situation – is complicated. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand, and fall – and now we have seen her… return.”

Lupa swung her legs over the bed, resting her elbows on her knees. Romulus was still asleep behind her, snoring softly, and she almost reached behind her to wake him up when she heard him snort; she felt the cot shifting as he threw his forelegs over her shoudlers, nipping the end of her ear with a surprised but happy yelp.

“The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear,” Giseele was continuing, and Lupa struggled to pay attention when her gigantic puppy was so excited to see her awake, it was taking everything in her to even stay upright. “And the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What _we_ have been called to endure, what _we_ , perhaps, must come to believe?”

Lupa stared at her hands in her lap for a moment, lost in thought, before looking back up at the Revered Mother and placing one of her hands on Rom’s head behind her. “Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or no, Corypheus is a real, physical threat; we can’t match that with hope alone.”

She stood, shaking her head, causing Romulus to slide off her shoulders. He bounded down from the cot to walk with her, leaning on her, pushing his nose under her arm so she could lean on him.

The others had finally given up their argument and dispersed: Cassandra was shaking her head angrily at a map laid out on a makeshift table, palms pressed flat and wide against the wood; Josephine and Leliana were sitting quietly and sadly together near a small fire; Cullen was standing a little ways away, adjusting his sword belt absently as he made a point of avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Lupa’s heart started to sink. _What are we going to do?_

Mother Giselle’s voice sounded behind her, singing softly, a song Lupa barely recognized as one of faith. As the people around her heard, they joined in; Leliana’s high alto broke though the crowd, followed shortly after by Cullen’s, a low tenor; the people were kneeling in front of her reverently, and she didn’t know what to do other than stand there and hope she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt.

When the singing was done, the atmosphere felt entirely different: there was unending amounts of hope in the air around her now, replacing the damp despair that had permeated their little valley only minutes before.

“An army needs more than an enemy,” Giselle said at her side. “It needs a cause.” She began to walk away, off to tend her flock, not even bothering with a backwards glance for the elf she had just left dumbfounded.

Thankfully, she was spared further discomfort by a quiet voice at her ear. “A word, Little One?”

She immediately turned to follow Solas, grateful for the easy escape.

He led them to a lantern that had been stuck firmly into the ground, and he lit it with a wave of his hand, the flames the same colour blue as his lupine eyes.

“The shemlen have not raised one of our people so high for Ages beyond counting,” he started, cocking his head and smiling at her ever so slightly. “Her faith is hard-won, Little One, worthy of pride…save one detail.” His expression was serious again, and she saw him let out a short sigh, his breath puffing in a little cloud from his nose. She steped closer, and his brow was knitting. “The threat Corypheus weilds? The orb he carries? It is ours.”

Lupa thought at first that he meant it was literally theirs, belonging to the two of them; it confused her for a moment, until she realized he meant that it was Elven.

He sighed again before continuing. “He used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

It was Lupa’s turn to sigh. She was suspicious of how he suddenly seemed so sure of this information, almost like he had known it all along. “All right,” she started, voice a little snarky, “what is it, and how do you know about it?”

“Such things were foci, used to channel power by the deities. Some were dedicated to specific members of the Pantheon. All that officially remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of the lost empire.” He turned away from her again before continuing. “However Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Suddenly something made sense to Lupa: she _had_ seen that orb before, in her memories of Arlathan; she had thought her Anchor had felt familiar from the Fade, but this meant-

“It’s yours,” she blurted out, and he whipped around to look at her again. “I thought it looked familiar, and the magic of my Mark was familiar, but I thought it was from the Fade, but it’s from _you_ – how did he get your foci?”

“It was taken from me in my Uthenera,” he answered immediately, but she knew him too well to dismiss the underlying current of defensiveness that had crept into his tone.

She let it go, instead returning to the previous discussion. “I know this isn’t good, but… these people, they trust me implicitly.”

His voice was tinged with sadness when he spoke this time. “Faith tends to make martyrs of its champions.” He twined his fingers together behind his back, taking a moment to gather his calm demeanor back together. “Whatever the case, that trust cannot grow in the wilderness. You will need every advantage.”

Lupa listened with great interest while he told her about what he had found, and by the time they turned back to the camp to tell the others, she felt more hopeful herself than she had in a long while.

He had called it Skyhold.

And it would be hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She so needed that closure, and some Daddy-Daughter time. I really hope the whole 'baby' thing with him isn't weird, but I couldn't think of another pet name for her, since 'pup' makes me think of the Human Noble Origin. 
> 
> And I do actually firmly believe that Giselle is a snake. Every time I play through, I hate her more and more.


	18. Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems so short! 
> 
> Chapter title says it all.

The sun had been starting to filter into the valley by the time Solas and Lupa returned to the camp, so they had waited until the next morning to leave for the mountain fortress.

Lupa tried to spend as little of her time as possible in camp with the pilgrims who were throwing themselves at her feet; she appreciated what she was to them, but she was still just a woman, and all of this open worship made her terribly uncomfortable.

She found a quiet tree to sit under, not paying attention to what kind it was, knowing only that the trunk, which split into two near the ground, was wide enough for two people to sit at. She had her back against the bark, relaxing into it slowly, when she heard armoured footfalls start to approach. She sat up a little straighter when Cullen came into view.

He stopped dead; she thought he must have come out here specifically to see her, though, so his reaction was strange to her. She smiled at him, suddenly aware that his presence felt different this time: she felt stronger, more confident, more relaxed than before, and realized that while they had been in Haven, she had always carried an undercurrent of trepidation in his presence, like she was afraid of getting caught doing something wrong.

She knew she had Owain to thank for that.

“Are you just going to stand there looking like you swallowed a live nug, or are you going to join me?” she threw out, and he shook his head at her before starting to move again. Under the canopy of the trees, it was difficult to read his eyes.

He sat next to her, settling in, but he was refusing to look at her. She watched him open his mouth numerous times over several minutes to speak, only to close them again and start drawing nonsense in the snow.

“Cullen,” she finally called, hoping to snap him out of whatever was wrong.

When he turned to her, there were wet tracks down his face; how had she not seen them while she was watching him? There was guilt behind his eyes, so strong she wondered how he was carrying it. He dropped his gaze again, dragging his hands down his face to dry it before reaching out and tentatively clasping one of her hands in his own, their fingers twining together gently but securely.

“I’m so sorry,” was all he managed, his voice broken on a sob, and she pulled him into her shoulder to let it out.

When he pulled away another few minutes later, she saw that he still truly felt no better, even though his grief for the moment was spent. He swallowed thickly, going red with shame when he realized what had just happened, and quickly stood, taking his hand back from her.

He was gone again before she could stop him, leaving her with her own growing guilt, wondering what she had done to hurt him this time.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Had they been able to find a road, the trip to Skyhold would have taken as much time on foot as getting to the Hinterlands did on horseback.

They had no such luck.

They trudged over mountain after mountain for three days before they caught their first glimpse of the massive, abandoned mountain fortress.

It was as majestic as it sounded, miraculously still standing after Ages of being abandoned to the whims of nature.

It had stolen everyone’s breath away as they first viewed it; Lupa could hear the ripples of _oohs, ahhhs,_ and _gasps_ that came with cresting the peak of the mountain they were currently climbing.

“Who did it belong to?” she asked Solas quietly, who had spent the entire journey right by her side, keeping her on track.

“I cannot remember,” he told her honestly. “It was not mine, I can tell you that. Whoever it did belong to has no use for it now, however, so I thought we should give it purpose again.”

“A wise choice,” Lupa nodded. “Thank you again for this, Solas.”

“You will use it well, Little One,” he smiled. “I would not have told you of it if I did not think so.”

Lupa turned around for the umpteenth time on their journey to find their Commander, but he had purposely avoided her since she had tried to comfort him in the woods. It was fine by her; she desperately wanted to help, but she knew he wouldn’t have distanced himself like this unless he needed the space to get over it himself. She took her own comfort in simply knowing that he was still with them, and that his work was unaffected.

Skyhold was still further away than it looked, but they managed to finally uncover a winding road leading to the long bridge that welcomed them, and they found themselves within its walls by the end of the day, people moving into a flurry of exhausted activity, setting up tents so that they could sleep and begin their work the next day.

Lupa walked through, offering to help with setting up, but everyone she spoke to thanked her endlessly and insisted she try to find a clear room somewhere in the keep to sleep, instead of a cold tent.

These people clearly forgot that she had spent her entire life sleeping under the stars, but their concern for her was touching, and when Josephine found her another half an hour later, looking drained, she seemed to have heard the townspeoples’ wish.

“We found a small room off the entrance to the Keep, Herald, that we were able to set up a cot in for you,” the Ambassador informed her politely, a warm smile coming across her face as she started to walk away, Lupa stepping in beside her as she was directed to her new room. “The people were insistent that you have a solid roof and walls around you tonight.”

“There’s still so much work to do, Josie,” Lupa fought out past a yawn.

“And we will deal with it. You are still recovering from the battle, and need to rest. We will handle everything from here.”

Lupa sighed in resignation, too tired at this point to press her argument further. They arrived at a small door next to the main gate, one that she had found full of debris earlier, which was now strewn out on the ground beside the step. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Josephine’s warm laugh tinkled out from high in her throat. “Sleep well, Herald.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen refused to stop going until everyone was finally able to settle in for the night.

He had taken volunteers for watch rotations, setting them for only two hours each tonight, knowing his soldiers would be exhausted as the rest of them from the march to get here. The fortress was in shambles, but some hard work and a master mason could fix the place up again in short order.

He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck to try to help ease the headache that was pounding painfully at the base of his skull; it was ever-present now, thanks to the lyrium withdrawal. He had hoped it would be over by now, but lyrium could linger in the bloodstream for years, close to a decade if one was unlucky, unless they were a mage that was able to use up its energy right away.

It was not the first time he regretted choosing the path of a Templar, and he tried to remember all the good that had come from it: he was among one of the most highly trained warriors in Thedas, had been given his redemption as Commander of an army that would rival the strength of any who chose to put themselves against it.

And he would not have met her if he had not been a Templar.

His guilt returned again, but it was still the one thing he knew he was most grateful for.

Cullen finally found his tent, about to duck inside, when the Ambassador’s voice drifted over to him quietly.

“Commander? I know you’re tired, but could I keep you for another moment? We shouldn’t be long, and then you can get some rest.”

He felt the low growl building in his throat, but he bit it back with a short, aggressive sigh instead, turning to see her standing already with Leliana and Cassandra. They both looked about as impressed as he felt.

Josephine looked a little guilty for having kept them, but when he approached, she cleared her throat, her tone all business. “Our Inquisition is still without proper leadership, and now that we are more secure, I had hoped we could discuss the issue.”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak at the same time as Leliana, but Cassandra beat them to it.

“Capitoline,” she stated strongly, almost daring them to suggest someone more worthy.

Cullen nodded; he had been about to suggest her as well, and Leliana’s smile told him they were on the same page, for once.

Josephine was smiling again, a little giggle escaping her. “See? I promised we would only be a moment. Let us convene again in the morning to discuss the further details.”

“Were we able to save the sword from Haven?” Cassandra asked.

“I have it in safekeeping,” Cullen answered. “I was able to grab it before we left.”

The only response he got from that were appreciative nods and a yawn that spread through all of them life wildfire.  

“Goodnight, Josie,” Leliana said sweetly, before they went their separate ways.

Cullen finally ducked inside his tent, a genuine smile breaking his features for the first time in too long.

Lupa would have no idea what was coming. He was looking forward to seeing her reaction.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa woke in the morning with a numb arm and a faceful of fur.

She felt better than she had since before she sealed the Breach.

Romulus woke when she stirred, jumping off the cot to let her get out of bed. She had fallen asleep in her underarmour, and with nothing else besides her staff and outer layer to her name anymore, it took her no time at all to emerge into the late morning sun, her hair smoothed out and twisted into an intricate braid over her shoulder with barely a snap of her magic.

She felt a little bad for sleeping so long, but she had needed it, and no one had come to wake her, so she assumed everything was under control.

When she looked around, she was happy to see that everything was: there were soldiers working, carrying out debris, escorting pilgrims to different areas; there were people slowly filing in through the gates, some of the refugees screaming and running, throwing exaggerated embraces out as their loved ones arrived; all around them was an air of hope, relief, happiness.

Lupa spotted Cassandra and the other advisors a short distance away, all with secretive smiles and bright eyes. One of them saw her, and they all scattered purposefully as Cassandra waved her over with a warm smile.

Lupa was a little nervous about the way they had all left abruptly when she emerged. Wasn’t there work to do? Why didn’t they want to speak to her?

Cassandra and Lupa watched another family reuniting near what had become their medical tents before the Seeker spoke up.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” She took a few steps backwards, and when Lupa and Romulus began to follow, she turned around to walk properly, always staying a step ahead as she led Lupa up a nearby staircase. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is beyond the war we anticipated.”

Lupa continued to follow the woman, pausing beside her when she stopped at the top of the staircase, just under the arch of the landing leading to the main house of the Keep.

“We now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you,” Cassandra continued gravely.

Lupa lifted her left hand to look at the scar that bisected it, quiet and non-descript in the absence of Rifts. “He came for this, and now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead,” she answered bitterly, letting it fall again to her side, resting her palm on Romulus’ head. “That’s it.”

“The Anchor has power,” Cassandra agreed, “but it’s not why you’re still standing here.”

They began to move again, passing under the archway and turning toward the steps leading up to the main Keep before Cassandra continued. “Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature’s rival because of what _you_ did – and we know it. All of us.”

It suddenly dawned on Lupa that the courtyard below them had gone very quiet, and when she looked out, she could see the entirety of Skyhold’s population standing and watching them, Cullen and Josephine beaming at her from the front lines.

When she continued up to the first landing on the steps, Leliana was waiting, a ceremonial greatsword held out flat on her palms in front of her.

Lupa stopped dead in her tracks.

“The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has already _been_ leading it.”

Lupa could only stare at the beautiful sword held aloft by their spymaster: the entire thing was made of a gleaming deep, rosy dawnstone, with a dragon wrapped around the hilt in a dark pyrophite.

“You’re offering this to an elf?” Lupa asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”

Romulus was laughing quietly beside her. “I would be terrified handing this power to anyone,” Cassandra admitted honestly, “but I believe it is the only way.” She turned to gesture at all the people below them. “They’ll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you’ve risen, how it must have been by Andraste’s hand.” Lupa felt uncomfortable that this might be the way the shemlen down there saw her, but now was not the time to fight the casual yet rampant racism.

Cassandra was stepping aside now, gesturing for Lupa to step forward and claim the sword laying across Leliana’s hands, and she stepped forward slowly and nervously to take it.

“What it means to you, how you lead us: that is for you alone to determine.”

Lupa managed to pick the sword up out of Leliana’s hand, honestly unsure of how she was holding it at all. She was in good shape these days, what with all the riding, fighting, travelling, but this thing must have weighed as much as her.

She stared at the hilt, Romulus leaning lightly against her side. “With fear running rampant, they need to see a mage standing for what is right.” She stopped to look out over the people, finding her favourite human standing at the front of the crowd, a small, proud, private smile on his face, his eyes visibly warm even from here. “I’ll defeat Corypheus standing with them, not over them.”

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra told her with an approving nod. She moved past Lupa to stand near the edge of the platform, raising her voice to address those who had gathered below. “Have our people been told?”

“They have,” Josephine replied loudly, “and soon, the world.”

“Commander, will they follow?”

He was turning his back on her now, rallying the crowd, his expression turning serious. “Inquisition! Will you follow?”

He was met with loud chorus of _yeah!_ from the people gathered, their fists pumping the air in front of them.

“Will you fight?”

They were cheering again, louder than the last, fists punctuating the errant shouts.

“Will we triumph?”

Whistles joined the growing crescendo from the ground below, sending shivers down Lupa’s spine, raising the hackles on Romulus’ back.

“Your leader!” Cullen turned back to face her. “Your Herald!” He drew his sword, holding it high as he announced her new title at last, his pride ringing clear in his voice. “Your _Inquisitor!”_

The cheering was near deafening now, and Lupa felt a smile stretching across her own face at the support they were showing her. She lifted the sword up, trying to mimic Cullen’s gesture-

And almost dropped it off the edge onto some poor soul’s head. _Fenedhis,_ this sword was _heavy._

She caught it, miraculously, weaving both hands around its hilt as she stumbled forward and the crowd below laughed kindly at her. This time, with the support of both hands, she managed to lift it over her head. The cheering started anew, somehow even _louder_ than before, and she looked up to stare at her hands for a few seconds before looking into the crowd, finding her friends scattered throughout, each cheering as enthusiastically as those around them. She looked at Cassandra to her right, who had the expression of a quietly proud mother gracing her features, before finding Leliana with one of her rare warm smiles to her left.

Cullen was smiling at her warmly again from below, his sword back at his side, and Lupa could feel his liquid honey eyes burning into her even at this distance, setting her blood aflame with something entirely different from the sensations the cheering had evoked in her. She lowered the sword awkwardly so she could change her stance to something a little less… open and exposed feeling, sighing and rolling her shoulders when Leliana relieved her of her burden again with a laugh.

The people below were already beginning to disperse, calling praises to her as they went their separate ways to celebrate in her name. Cullen and Josephine had started up the steps to meet them so they could convene and decide what needed to be done next.

Josephine vaulted up the last few steps to reach them without her usual carefully controlled demeanor, enveloping Lupa in another gentle hug, giggling her congratulations in her ear, letting her go only a few moments later and stepping back, clearing her throat lightly, her expression shifting back to that of a delicate negotiator.

Cullen kept his distance, but the air was so thick with tension when Lupa looked at him, she was sure they weren’t the only ones noticing it. Her heart was pounding, her blood still aflame, and she could feel his gaze heating her skin as well, a flush creeping across her cheeks. He was giving her that tiny, private smile again, the scar on his lip tugging deliciously, and she was relieved to see it after days of grief and far-too-dedicated work ethic.

“Congratulations,” he murmured, though his voice carried for how low it was, sending a jolt through her as her stomach and her pulse dropped to places they didn’t belong.

“Ma serannas,” Lupa answered, her own voice a little throaty, and she absently reached out with a hand to massage one of Rom’s ears. She saw his eyes darken dramatically as he was drawn to her compulsive motion, and she got a thrill from knowing _exactly_ where his mind had gone in that instant.

Cassandra cleared her throat, and Lupa flushed deeper, this time in embarrassment, when she realized again that they weren’t alone for the entire exchange.

Romulus was laughing beside her, and even Josephine was having a hard time containing the knowing grin that tried to slide across her face. Leliana was much more schooled, but her eyes were giving away everything.

Lupa focused on her hand on Romulus’ head, where she had continued to stroke his ear as the others decided what needed to be done. Cassandra was leaving, but the others were making their way up the last few steps to the doors of the main Keep, and she and Romulus made to follow.

Lupa grinned mischievously behind Cullen’s back, watching the way his usually strong and controlled gait had suddenly gone a little uncomfortable, before setting her mind back to the task at hand.

_Yet another title to get used to…_

This time, it was not a title of religious import, bearing down on her and her own personal beliefs.

This time, it was a title of power.

They had given it to an elf. A Dalish, no less. They were either completely mad, or entirely reckless.

She loved it.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“I know one thing,” Leliana said, after Varric left them alone again in the main hall of the Keep. “If Varric has brought who I think he has… Cassandra is going to kill him.”

Cullen smirked. He thought he knew who it was, too, but it would do no good to announce it to everyone present. Besides, his mind was still only half on business.

She had _definitely_ seen the way he reacted out on the step, his professionalism abandoning him in that moment of vulnerability, and he was suddenly wondering what it would feel like is she was doing it to _him_ -

He groaned audibly, his breeches now too snug and more than a little uncomfortable, but the others were already leaving him behind with his shameful thoughts, so he wasn’t too worried about anyone noticing for the moment.

He took a few long, slow, deep breaths to calm himself, forcing himself to think of all the work he had to do: scheduling a permanent guard rotation, setting a temporary one until he could solidify the permanent one, organizing work crews to get this place cleaned up, and finding a permanent office with easy access.

Especially the main hall of the Keep, where loose boards and crumbling stones all but completely covered the floor.

It took a few minutes, but once Cullen was reasonably sure he had his wits about him again (determined by the lack of pressure under the laces of his trousers), he made his way to the courtyard to begin his work.

He had been at it for a few hours, at least, when she finally stopped in to talk to him.

She was standing there by herself, hands playing with her multitude of ear piercings, her cheeks flushed with exertion, hair starting to come loose, looking dishevelled in general. It took all of his willpower to think about something _other_ than that he might be able to make her flush like that-

_Andraste preserve me._

He raised an eyebrow instead, and she sighed heavily. “I had to break up a fight between Cassandra and Varric. Guess that tells you all you need to know about who’s here?”

Cullen smiled crookedly. “I never believed him when he said he didn’t know where she was. I don’t blame him for hiding her, either.”

She didn’t say anything in response, opting to just watch him. Cullen cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable again under her gaze, and reached up to rub the back of his neck, bringing them around to business so he didn’t make a mistake and drive her away in disgust. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon – or whatever that was.” His hand dropped to the table again, and he sighed dejectedly, his guilt returning in a wash. All those men, and almost _her_. “With some warning, we might have…”

She laughed lightly at him, but he didn’t see what was so funny. “Do you ever sleep?” she teased, and eyebrow raised at him.

He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.” He leaned over the table again, not wanting her to see how terrible he still felt; he was still ashamed of breaking down on her in the woods that day at the camp, and didn’t want to put that burden on her ever again. “Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

Her new title slid off the tongue more easily than her old one did. This one suited her far more.

“Inquisitor Lavellan…” she mused quietly, prompting him to stand up straight to look at her again. “Sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” he countered, far too quickly.

She was raising a brow at him again, that playful smirk that undid him taking over her face. “Is that the official response?”

It prompted a deep, genuine laugh from him, and this time, he got to watch _her_ squirm a little. “I suppose it is, but it’s also the truth. We needed a leader; you have proven yourself.”

Her head tipped, face relaxing in a much warmer, more natural smile. “Thank you, Cullen,” she murmured. He felt the corner of his own mouth dragging upward, and she licked her bottom lip anxiously, the tip of her tongue barely visible as she dragged her teeth across it subtly. His heart was starting to pick up its pace again, and he was about to distract himself with work when her voice drifted out to him once more. “Our escape from Haven…it was close.” She was reaching up again, grabbing at the end of her ear as she stared pointedly at her boots. “I’m relieved that you – that, erm, so many made it out.”

Had she actually just stumbled over her words at him? That was a first. Had she not paused for so long when she did, he might have missed it entirely.

“As am I,” he told her honestly, voice low, looking at the ground between them. This conversation was emotionally all over the place, and he was having a hard time keeping up.

He was shaken from his reverie as she turned to walk away, and he reached out to grab at her gently; he was going to go for her hand, but at the last second decided he didn’t want to be dealing with the rumours again, and grabbed her elbow lightly instead.

“You stayed behind,” he started, feeling the old familiar ache in his throat that preceded tears, and it crept into his voice. “You could have–” He swallowed thickly, refusing to let his grief take hold, instead making a steely promise, to both of them. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

His voice had been breathy on that, and he watched her face turning red again for only a moment before turning back to his work with renewed vigor, his restless, grief-stricken mind quiet at last.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited that they're here now and I can really get the ball rolling! Hello, mature rating ;)
> 
> I feel like Cullen would feel so much more guilty about sending her off to her death if he cares about her. I really didn't want to shy away from the tears with him.


	19. A City With Towers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Cullen. 
> 
> The ball is rolling!

Cullen was surprised to find Romulus pushing his way under his elbow another couple of hours later, after dinner had been called.

The wolf had Lupa back. Why was he here with him? And why was he still being so friendly and familiar?

Cullen was simply curious; if anything, he had to admit he enjoyed having the giant canine at his side, as any Fereldan would. He had missed the herding dogs they kept when he left the farm for his Templar training, and he hadn’t been allowed to have a dog since. When he was young, he would always volunteer to give them dinner, so he could play with them when they were done eating. His mother had written to him once a few months after he had left that they seemed lost without him at nights, and he had cried quietly into his pillow before falling asleep.

Cullen absently raked his gloved fingers against Romulus’ side as he stared at the papers on the table in front of him. His lower back was starting to ache from working at the too-short table all day, and his headache was getting worse, the words and details swimming off the pages at him. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, enjoying the sensation, hoping the brief respite would help him focus.

Romulus tried to tell him to give up for the night; being under Cullen’s arm had forced the Commander to stand upright, and his back was certainly thanking him, but there was still so much to do-

Romulus insisted again that he give up. Was it truly so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning?

The wolf had a point, Cullen realized, and he sighed, gathering up the papers in front of him. One of his men had told him of a promising location for an office, and he thought it would be a good idea to check it out. Perhaps he could store his work there, at least, until it was cleared and set up properly.

Romulus finally stepped away, allowing him to gather his things, and when Cullen started up the steps toward one of the tower rooms up on the battlements, Romulus took up a place at his side.

The wolf stepped in front of him under the archway leading into the upper courtyard, stopping him in his tracks. He raised a brow in question-

And immediately went bright red at the wolf’s response.

He shouldn’t have; what Romulus had suggested was, on the surface, entirely acceptable: a simple vision of him handing Lupa a peach.

But he had heard a rather _detailed_ conversation between Sera and Blackwall on the way to Skyhold regarding peaches, and he wondered if Romulus was hinting at something else.

When the wolf cocked his head, questioning in return, Cullen shook his own, clearing his mind of the details from that overheard encounter, deciding that if he was going to take the wolf’s advice, he would take it literally. And if he misstepped-

Romulus picked himself up again, laughing, and continued to follow Cullen as he made his way up onto the high walls.

A door opened to his right, and there was Lupa, stepping out of what appeared to be a large log cottage.

“There you are!” she called, and both Cullen and Romulus turned around immediately at the sound of her voice.

She stopped dead in her tracks, watching them both for a moment before bursting into warm laughter and catching up.

“What’s so funny?” Cullen asked her as she reached them, but she just shook her head, reaching out to put her hand on the side of Rom’s face.

“Actually decided to pack it up for the day?” she teased, her eyes bright and her smirk playful.

“No thanks to your stubborn mutt,” he answered with a grin of his own, and Rom protested weakly about his parentage beside them, only feigning insult.

“Well, I won’t keep you, then,” Lupa told him with another smile, turning back to the wolf at his side. “Josie said she had something to show me. Are you coming with me, or staying?”

Romulus leaned on Cullen’s side for a moment, and she nodded, turning around to walk away. He had thought the wolf meant to stay, but it seemed he had leaned on him in parting, and he bounded past her up the stairs, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he panted, waiting for her.

Cullen watched her go, taking her time instead of running after Romulus. He had always appreciated how strong and assured she was when she moved, but now he was appreciating the way her stance shifted as she stepped, the subtle swing to her wide hips as her weight was placed on one foot after the other. It was an almost lupine sort of prowl, as if she had some prey in her sights that she was trying not to startle.

When she reached the steps, she took two at a time, bounding up in an uncharacteristic show of grace and speed, her long, slender legs carrying her past the first landing in no more than a single step, and she disappeared from his sight a moment later, as her and Romulus entered the main hall.

Cullen sighed, trying to remember what he was doing, when a voice rang out from above him on the wall.

“Oh dear, Commander. You’ve got it _bad._ ”

Cullen groaned as he turned around and continued on his way up the stairs. He had hoped that Dorian would have left by the time he got up there due to a lack of response, but the Tevinter was still standing there when he reached the upper wall, fixing his moustache with one hand, the other on his hip as he leaned on the stone.

“What _exactly_ are you planning on doing about it?” he demanded immediately.

“What?” Cullen asked, completely taken aback. He had barely spoken to this man, and he was trying to pry into his private affairs?

“Are you completely blind?” Dorian continued, standing up straight to walk over closer to Cullen. He remembered how this mage had won over Lupa so quickly, how close they were, and his old jealousy rose to the surface again as the mage continued to speak. “She’s had plenty of offers, you know. Turned them all down. Sera, Bull, even Blackwall at Sera’s insistence; Maker, even _I’d_ have a go if she _really_ needed it. Not that I’d particularly _enjoy_ it, but duty to the Inquisition and Inquisitor and all that-”

“Is there a point to this?” Cullen asked, cutting the man off. He turned on his heel to walk away, his stomach turning, and the mage stepped in next to him, keeping pace.

“I’m suggesting, Commander, that the Inquisitor is also a woman, and has womanly needs,” Dorian stated evenly. “And that if you wish to be the one satisfying them, you need to step in and do it before she turns elsewhere to have them filled.”

Cullen had just thrown open the door to the tower office his soldier had uncovered, turning with a shocked expression to look at the mage, about to protest, when the man pushed past him into the room as if he hadn’t just laid bare Cullen’s worst fear.

“Hmmm… could use some work-”

“Commander?”

This time it was Leliana’s voice behind him, and he spun to look at her. She had a small box in her hands, and a matching smile on her face.

“What can I do for you?” he asked as politely as he could when she joined him, hearing Dorian’s heavy footfalls approaching from behind him.

“I found this cleaning out the upper floor of the solar,” she told him, pressing the box into his hands. “I thought you would like to keep it.”

Cullen barely had time to thank her before she was whisking away, not even waiting to watch him open his gift.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dorian said from right over his shoulder, and Cullen took an involuntary step forward before spinning to look at the mage again. He was starting to get dizzy from all the spinning he was doing. “What?” Dorian asked, sounding a little insulted. “I don’t bite without permission!”

Cullen chose to ignore that comment, instead taking his time to unclasp the lid on the fancy, carved wooden box Leliana had given him to peer inside.

His heart swelled; he’d had a chess set that went with him everywhere. His sister had bought it and had it delivered to him at Kinloch Hold as a birthday present one year.

He hadn’t been able to save it from Haven.

He had wondered how and when he would replace it. Him and Leliana had gotten to know each other well over that board, even become friends though they had such different ideas of how to go about getting things done.

He was going to have to thank her soon.

“Is that a chess set, Commander?” Dorian asked as he stepped forward again to look over the lid. “I was about to be surprised, but of _course_ you play chess. Any Commander worth his title does.”

Cullen was smiling at the little carved pieces; they were heavy, he discovered as he picked up a Queen with his free hand. The board was inlaid with ebony and ivory squares, and the pieces were carved from matching.

It was a truly beautiful set.

He began to count, making sure all the pieces were there; Dorian spoke up, and Cullen choked on the man’s words.

“We shall have to have a game sometime, Commander. If you’re not interested in pursuing the Lady Lavellan, then perhaps I can sway you in another direction.”

Cullen watched in abject horror as Dorian laughed and winked at him before walking away.

He wanted to feel awkward and jealous and terrible about what he had just gone through, but when he thought about it, Dorian was looking out for his friend. Though he had been entirely forward with him, he had respected Cullen’s boundaries.

He found himself smiling, grateful that she had friends who cared about her well-being so strongly that they felt the need to intervene, even if he wished, for his own sake, that they wouldn’t.

He entered the office finally, taking a look around: there was debris everywhere, but he managed to spot a sturdy looking desk in one corner to his right, and there was an empty bookcase across the room from him. They had thankfully been placed in corners where the elements wouldn’t be able to reach them as easily through the small windows, and when he put his papers and new chess set down on the large desk, he set to inspecting it.

It was made with a heavy, hard wood, and expertly built, still standing perfectly sturdy even after years of neglect. The bookshelf had not fared as well, but it was still strong enough to hold up to its job.

He found a few spare soldiers on the battlements on the other side of the tower from where he and Dorian had been, and asked if they would be willing to help him work on clearing the room out. They immediately followed him in, and the work was done in no more than a quarter hour.

The debris was gone, and the desk had been moved into the middle of the room near the windows, the bookshelf to his right if he’d had a chair to sit in behind his desk. There was a hole in the roof, and it looked like there was a room up above this one as well; the soldiers who were helping him had gone to try to find a ladder for him so he could see what was up there.

He began sorting his work, laying his map flat on the desktop, and when the soldiers returned over half an hour later with a suitable ladder, he was perched on the corner of his desk, a private, quiet smile on his face that made his men look at him questioningly.

He had been replaying the encounter with Dorian, and some of his words suddenly stuck out.

_She’s had plenty of offers, you know. Turned them all down._

She was waiting. The fact that Dorian had sought him out told him she was waiting for _him._

He jumped up to help his men install the ladder, and then dismissed them, handing them each a silver for a pint once a tavern opened.

“Already in full swing, Commander,” one of them told him with a grin. “Thanks for this.”

He nodded, waiting until the door closed behind them to climb up and see what was waiting for him up above.

He was surprised to see an old bed abandoned in the middle of the floor. The frame seemed to be made of the same wood as his desk down below, and he tried shaking it with one hand, putting his weight into it.

It didn’t budge.

He would request a new mattress and bedding for it, but it was an excellent find, despite the dead wood built up in a few corners where there were holes in the roof. Cullen didn’t mind; he’d been having a hard time coming out of his nightmares on their journey here, and found that a good shock of cold after waking was a great way to bring himself back around.

There was a large copper tub hiding under one pile of debris, and he cleared it away when he spotted the metal out of the corner of his eye. It was huge, easily big enough for him to actually fit, unlike the tiny one he’d had in Haven.

He would have to do with the old mattress and bedding for now, lucky to have even made the find, and he was busy beating the dust from the sheets when Romulus’ vision flashed across his mind again, and then he remembered a few other details of Dorian’s conversation, the pieces finally fitting together in his head.

_... even Blackwall, at Sera’s insistence…_

Suddenly their conversation on the way here about peaches made a lot more sense, and he growled involuntarily.

_… the Inquisitor is also a woman, and has womanly needs… step in and do it… before she turns elsewhere._

He growled again; he refused to just go to her and insist they take what they clearly both needed. He wanted to take his time, do things properly. He respected her too much, he _worshipped_ her.

But Dorian had a point.

_Maker’s breath._ If he didn’t at least make that first move, he’d never have the chance to do things properly.

Another person he had to thank.

He stood in the middle of the room for another minute, frozen in thought before tossing the bedding unceremoniously back onto the mattress and climbing down the ladder.

He already knew the castle well, having sent his people exploring earlier, and in a matter of minutes, he found himself in the cold storage for the kitchens.

“’Ello, Commander,” said one of the kitchen staff, a wide smile on her round face. “Good to see ya! ’Ere for a late night snack?”

Cullen found himself smiling back. “I was actually hoping we had some peaches lying about.”

“Got a cravin’, do ya?” she asked him kindly before disappearing behind a row of root vegetables. She stuck her head out only a minute later. “I got some. How many ya need?”

“Two would be wonderful,” he requested, and she nodded, disappearing again.

She handed him two peaches only a moment later, and he thanked her kindly.

“Don’t you worry abou’ it one bit, luv,” she told him with a maternal pat on the arm. “Meat’s good for soldiers, but that doosn’t mean you can ignore the fruit and veg!” she told him with a hearty laugh.

“Have a good night, my lady.”

“An’ you, luv. Enjoy!”

When he left the kitchens, he found Romulus waiting for him again.

Cullen stopped just past the doorway, waiting for the wolf to say something to him.

He smiled, his tongue hanging out past his teeth again, his approval thick in the air, before showing Cullen where Lupa could be found, stalking away without another word.

Cullen stood there frozen for a minute. Was he really going to do this? Go visit her just to give her a peach? Surely he would need a _reason_ to go…

He thought about it as he entered the main hall, mapping each door as he crossed to the back of the room, where a makeshift throne had been set up: first door to the left led to the garden, which he had yet to visit; first door to the right led to the first floor of the solar, and his new office; second left led to a large room which would likely be used for War Councils, as well as Josephine’s new office; second right led directly to the second floor of the solar, which held a library that was already stocked, and a high balcony overlooking the main hall, where Vivienne had taken up permanent residence; third right had been found with an astounding view and a forge, and had been handed over to the blacksmith.

The third door on the left led to the Inquisitor’s new quarters.

He paused next to the door, shifting the fruit in his hands to hold both pieces in one so he could reach out for the door handle. It turned softly, the door swinging silently on its hinges as he pushed himself through.

As he closed the door behind him, Cullen felt his stomach explode into a swarm of butterflies, heat creeping up his face. He still had no idea what excuse to come up with for his visit.

It was too late for him to turn back now.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa sat in front of the fire in her new room, trying to come to terms with the luxury of it.

As of right now, she had an old bed and an old couch, the latter of which was pulled up in front of the fire. There was a small room she could use as a private bathing closet, complete with giant copper tub, and a second small closet with a ladder that led to a high platform along the back wall. She still wasn’t sure what she would use that for, but storage seemed likely.

There were two balconies, with swinging glass doors: one overlooked the gardens below, the other across the mountaintops. It was a glorious view.

Lupa had gone to the library and found a book written on Elvhen culture, laughing privately at all the things the author had gotten wrong; she would have to give it to Solas when she was done, he would _love_ it.

Thinking about Solas made her put the book down and take some time to contemplate him, staring mesmerized at the flames crackling in her hearth. She had stopped thinking of him as Fen’Harel, or as a God, since she came to the Inquisition. It was difficult to keep that image of him when he had a humanoid form and spoke with her as an equal, instead of as a prophet and student.

She had even stopped thinking of him with capitols on his pronouns, as she had before. When had she stopped doing that?

His words after Haven still haunted her, but she wouldn’t press him on it. It didn’t seem right after all he had done for her to accuse him of an ulterior motive, regardless of her suspicions.

She was drawn suddenly out of her reverie by a soft knock on her door; she sat up straighter, not bothering to answer, instead calling out for whoever it was to come in.

She saw Cullen’s gold curls over the railing at her stairs, and she jumped up, suddenly much happier than she had been just a moment ago.

He didn’t seem to have noticed her, yet, as he reached the top of the steps, instead taking a moment to absorb his surroundings. He was hiding something in one hand, and when she tried to step around him to see what it was, he snapped out of his daze, smiling at her as he hid them further.

“This is a spectacular space,” he commented, turning to look up at her second floor, where a pair of stone owls carrying suns were perched, wings spread wide. “Those owls…”

“They make me uneasy,” Lupa admitted. “Elgar’nan’s symbol.”

“Strange that this place would be elven…” Cullen mused, his voice dropping off.

Lupa let it hang for a moment before clearing her throat lightly. It drew him to look at her again, and the underlying tension that snapped into place when they locked eyes immediately set her heart pounding. “And to just what do I owe this pleasure?” Lupa asked, hoping her tone was as light and unaffected as she had intended.

“I – um, well, I thought I should – the title of Inquisitor is a great honour-”

Lupa laughed at his stammering. “You know, it’s perfectly okay to admit that you simply wished for my company,” she teased. “A girl might get the wrong idea if you’re constantly trying to come up with excuses.”

He started to go red, free hand reaching up for the back of his neck, eyes tearing away from hers, and she laughed again, not unkindly, at his embarrassment.

He recovered quickly, swallowing nervously before bringing his hidden hand in front of him. Lupa had been starting to walk toward him, but the movement caught his attention, and when she saw what was in his hand, she stopped dead. She could feel her brow knitting and lips barely parted in shock.

Lupa hadn’t had a peach since Owain had died. It had been one of the little things that reminded her so much of him, that she hadn’t even been able to stand the sight of them.

And here he was, with two of them in hand, about to give her one. Just like Owain had a million times before.

He saw her reaction and blanched. She could hear him muttering to himself, but it was low and much too fast: she caught something about Sera, and Blackwall, and then Dorian, before something that sounded suspiciously like ‘crazy, stubborn mutt’.

Lupa was able to put two and two together: Sera had given her the ‘ripe peaches’ talk one night on their way to Skyhold, making her blush furiously at the turns her mind had taken; Varric had mentioned that she had been offering the same demonstration to Blackwall as a form of ‘instruction’.

How Dorian came into the mix, she was unsure, but there was only one ‘crazy, stubborn mutt’ who could have told him to do anything. Rom must have told him she had loved peaches, and likely left him without context, so when she reacted to the sight of them, his mind had taken him to a place she very much liked to think about, and the only logical explanation to him.

By the time she pieced everything together, he was trying to put them away, apologizing for his ridiculous behaviour, even turning to leave before Lupa unfroze and leapt forward to stop him.

The least she owed him was an explanation. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I haven’t had one since Owain died. He used to always get them for us.”

He was still trying to find a place to put them, but he was clearly relieved, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a long sigh.

Lupa held her hand out, and he looked at it for a few seconds before pressing one of the peaches into her palm.

She looked at it in turn, wondering if she would truly be able to do this. It was a stupid _fruit_ , why had she ever decided not to eat something because someone died?

She missed peaches.

A wicked thought popped into her head, and she grinned mischievously at Cullen, her eyes never leaving his as she took a bite into it.

It was delicious, and _perfect_ , she had forgotten how much she loved them. The juice was just as messy as she had hoped, and when she brought her hand down again, she left it on her chin, licking off her lips a little too dramatically, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip, before crudely wiping her face clean on her sleeve.

It had the effect she desired: Cullen’s eyes had gone dark in an instant, his face flushing, and she let him hang there for a minute before laughing again and turning back to the couch, inviting him to join her.

“I see Blackwall wasn’t the only one to learn something new on the way here,” Cullen finally managed, his voice still a little scandalized, and maybe even a little jealous.

“I drew the line when she decided she needed something a little more ‘realistic,’” Lupa assured him, and she saw him starting to relax again.

They continued to eat in front of the fire, talking about their first full day in the castle. Lupa told him the details of Cassandra and Varric’s spat, what Hawke had been able to tell her, and that the tavern was in full swing. He in turn shared the discovery of his office and his gift from the Spymaster.

Lupa had found herself thinking that day, what with Hawke’s appearance, about something that she hadn’t considered before, and she decided to probe Cullen about it as he rose to leave not quite an hour later.

“Cullen?” she asked, her voice tentative, and he stopped at the top of the stairs, his expression becoming vaguely worried as he turned to look at her again. “Did you… leave anyone behind? In Kirkwall?”

“No,” he told her immediately, though she suspected he had missed the underlying suggestion in her question. “I fear I made few friends there, and my family’s in Ferelden.”

“No one… _special_ caught your interest?” she asked.

There was no way he could mistake her intention this time, and his response, when it came, sent a visible shiver down her spine.

“Not in Kirkwall.”

He looked at her there for only another few seconds before starting down the stairs and wishing her goodnight.

She stayed there for far too long, his low voice still rocking through her.

_Not in Kirkwall._

Creators help her.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen was smiling like an idiot when he emerged quietly into the main hall again.

Two could play her game.

Her reaction had been priceless; Cullen had seen her tremble as she stood there, her skin flushing before his eyes, right down past the high collar of her shirt, making the fine copper-gold lines on her skin stand out dramatically. To say it didn’t affect him at all would be a terrible lie, which was why he had made a swift exit only moments later.

Cullen spotted Dorian leaning back against the wall on the other side of the room, and when Cullen drew close enough to hear him, Dorian called out loudly.

“Well, well. He finally emerges,” the mage drawled dramatically. “Can I go visit her now, or does she need her rest?”

Varric was down the hall chuckling, but Cullen was grateful for the late hour and mostly empty hall.

“Visit if you like,” he answered evenly. “I simply went for a chat. I imagine she’s gone back to her book by now.”

“A ‘chat?’” Dorian asked scandalously, before sighing. “Coming from you, that really means what it sounds like, I’m sure.”

Cullen watched the mage starting toward Lupa’s new quarters, calling out to him again as he was halfway there.

Dorian turned around with a raised eyebrow, and Cullen cleared his throat. “You wanted a game of chess?”

“Oh? Decided to take me up on _my_ offer?”

“I just wanted someone to play against-”

“Say no more!” Dorian cut him off. “State your terms.”

“Tomorrow, after breakfast?” Cullen suggested. “How about the gardens?”

“Sounds positively charming,” Dorian answered him with a wink. “It’s a date.”

He was gone before Cullen could protest, and he gave up, turning back to his new office, more excited for what little sleep he could get than he had been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how they got food already. Maybe Josie worked with Solas to give their suppliers coordinates and it was already there waiting for them? Even in game it seems to make little sense. 
> 
> I'm going with that, anyway.


	20. Dream and Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I like writing Cullen POV's.

Cullen learned a lot about Dorian the next morning.

He was a man who loved to tease, but was an excellent judge of a person’s boundaries. He was observant to a fault, and knew the best ways to twist what he knew to his advantage.

He was a horrible cheater.

And he _loved_ to talk about himself.

He even explained to Cullen more about his time with Lupa in the future.

“Honestly, Commander, you looked _dreadful_ ,” Dorian told him, very seriously, at one point. “It’s no wonder she was devastated afterward, what with everything else.”

Cullen found himself apologizing openly to the man across the table from him, prompting an explanation that made Dorian laugh loudly.

“She is a remarkable woman,” Dorian agreed. “Perhaps… in another world. But not this one.”

Cullen smiled, studying the board in silence for a minute. His opinion of the man had made a complete about face, and he found he quite enjoyed the haughty Tevinter’s company.

“We should do this more often, Dorian,” he stated as he moved his rook. The game was coming to a close, soon, and Cullen was carefully setting up his final assault.

“Far be it from me to ignore an invitation from the Inquisition’s most eligible bachelor,” Dorian teased with a grin. “Well – aside from _me,_ of course. Imagine all the lords and ladies lined up to watch us _play_ together.” He finally made his move, and it was exactly what Cullen had predicted. He tried to hide his smirk, but it didn’t work as well as he had hoped; it never worked as well when he wasn’t in work mode.

Cullen made his next move with confidence, only pretending to study the board carefully. Dorian was giving him a look of utter disdain, as if he thought _he_ had the upper hand here.

“Gloat all you like,” Cullen teased him. “I have this one.”

Dorian’s expression became shocked. “Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Cullen, once again, had a hard time hiding his grin. His tone was light when he responded. “Why do I even-”

There was movement in the corner of his eye, and his honed soldier’s instincts had him almost on his feet in less than a second when he saw who it was.

“Inquisitor!”

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Dorian asked, and Cullen slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

Cullen was still watching her, enraptured as he always was in her presence. Someone had loaned her clothing until the seamstresses could arrive from Denerim and Val Royeaux; he guessed Leliana, because she had been smart and had a bag packed, ready to go in case of an emergency, and the new shirt Lupa was wearing was only slightly too big. It was a plain, unassuming grey with a round collar sitting off-centre around her neck as she pulled a little nervously at a cuff, exposing the wing of one of her delicate collarbones. The hem came to just past the widest point of her hips, hugging them a little snugly over her usual pair of pants she wore with her armour.

“Are you two playing nice?” she asked lightly.

“I’m _always_ nice,” Dorian answered, prompting her to laugh. He moved one of his bishops, looking back at Cullen as he did so. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better when you do.”

But Cullen was smiling openly. Dorian had just made a bad move, and Cullen took advantage. “Really?” he asked as his Queen moved in: both his little ebony piece on the board, and Lupa, who had stepped closer, and he leaned back in his chair, a laugh escaping him. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.”

Dorian studied the board for a moment before picking himself up regally and sighing lightly – for dramatic effect, no doubt. “Don’t get smug, there’ll be no living with you,” he teased as he stood, and Cullen didn’t miss the wink he threw to Lupa beside them.

Cullen waited until the Tevinter was out of earshot before looking up at Lupa again. The extra eyes on her face really seemed to pop today, and he realized she was a little pale. Otherwise, though, she looked bright and alert, so he decided not to mention it.

“I should return to my duties as well,” he told her, and when he saw her shoulders slump forward marginally in defeat, he thought better of it. “Unless… you would like a game?”

Her smile was wide and warm, and he felt the butterflies in his stomach starting to stir. “Prepare the board, Commander,” she told him before slipping into Dorian’s seat.

“Did your Clan ever have a chess set?” he asked, wondering if she even knew what she was doing.

“Owain loved it,” she told him immediately. “Cards and gambling were never really his thing. He was terrible at chess, but one of his good friends was a Hunter who loved it, and it was one of the things they would always do together. I used to watch, but I never played. Dorian taught me the basics back in Haven one afternoon.”

“Well, here’s hoping you don’t cheat as badly as him,” Cullen teased, and she laughed at that, relaxing back into the chair. “You seem to be far more comfortable talking about Owain now,” he observed quietly, without thinking, and saw her staring at the board, expression dreamy.

“He came to see me, while I was healing after Haven,” she said. “He thinks he’s becoming Compassion, he’s spent so long in the Fade… I got to talk to him one last time. It was… what I needed.”

It explained a fair bit, actually. Haven had changed her, though not necessarily for the worse. She was more calm and sure than before, where she would question herself and her place constantly: even if she didn’t do so outwardly, he could see it burning behind her eyes frequently enough.

“He told me he wanted me to be happy,” Lupa continued quietly, reaching forward finally and placing the pawn in front of her Queen two squares forward. “He also told me he couldn’t remember any of our time together. But seeing him, it was… it was like seeing an old friend after a long time apart. Which I guess it was, but…”

Cullen watched her as she spoke, finally making his own move. “But not like seeing your lover again.”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “I miss him, still. I think I always will. But it was…very freeing.” Then she smiled again, that lost dreamy look still on her face. “And then I got to see my Father.”

They continued to play as she told Cullen about him, how much she missed him, and that he wanted to come visit.

“I think my biggest regret about the Conclave,” she told him finally, “was losing my staff. My father had made it for me, spent months perfecting it. The one I’m using now is more than sufficient, but it still just doesn’t stack up.”

“I’m sure we could find you something more suitable,” Cullen suggested.

“No, it’s fine. Like I said, the one I’m using now works wonderfully. It’s just not my _papae’s._ ” She fell silent, contemplating the board for a moment before springing a question on him. “Where did you learn to play?”

“As a child, I played this with my sister,” he answered her. He remembered sharing childhood stories once, long ago, but couldn’t remember if he had ever mentioned his siblings before. “She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won – which was _all_ the time,” he told her with a chuckle. “My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…” He broke with a sigh, moving a piece before continuing. “Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder sometimes if she still plays.”

He missed Mia. Maybe he should write to her.

“You have siblings?” she asked brightly.

Well, that answered that question.

“Two sisters and a brother,” he confirmed for her.

“Where are they now?”

“My family moved to South Reach after the Blight,” he answered, though he was sure she had no idea where that was. “I do not write to them as often as I should.”

They took their next few turns in silence, simply enjoying each others’ company. It felt different this time: the usual tension was still there, but there was something different about Lupa’s reaction to it. It felt almost… comfortable; Cullen hadn’t realized it before, but it used to always feel like she was a misbehaving child afraid of getting caught.

Now, it felt like she was a misbehaving child who didn’t _care_ if she got caught.

“You know, this might be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition – or related matters,” he piped in, breaking their silence. Or maybe it wasn’t? Cullen didn’t bother to correct himself. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

“I said this before, In Haven, but I’ll say it again since we didn’t exactly take it seriously last time,” she laughed. “We should spend more time together.”

Cullen felt himself going a little warm. “I would like that,” he told her.

“Me, too,” she answered, colour flaring more sharply than usual on her pale skin.

Cullen smiled, staring at the board determinedly. “You said that,” he murmured, voice low.

He wasn’t used to this Lupa who was a little stumbly, but he thought he could get used to it. It was a nice change from _him_ stumbling all the time, at any rate.

His eyes found hers across the table, and the tension snapped taught again, tugging at them. They sat there staring at each other for what felt like forever when Cullen suddenly remembered they were in the middle of a game.

“We should… finish our game,” he offered, voice clear again. “Right, um… my turn?”

She smirked at him, leaning back and waving her hand over the board in an invitation for him to make his move. Cullen tried to focus on what was happening to their match, but his concentration was inconsistent at best with her here, staring at him like she was just then, and he gave up trying to think ahead, moving a piece that seemed suitable for the time being.

Perhaps distracting him had been her game all along: in only two more turns, she had his King cornered.

“I believe this one is yours,” he told her, studying the board for a way out, and finding none. “Well played.”

She leaned back in her chair, smiling for a moment, until a hand flew to her stomach, a hiss escaping from between clenched teeth.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You look a little pale…”

She was already relaxing again, shaking her head quietly. “I’m sure I’m fine. Probably something at breakfast not agreeing with me.”

Cullen cleared up the pieces, putting them away in the wooden box they had come in as she slowly got to her feet. “Thank you for the game, Cullen,” she said to him quietly. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Of course,” he confirmed. “Hopefully you’re feeling better.”

She laughed kindly as she began to step away. “I hope so, too.”

Cullen waited until she was out of sight to move back to his office. He was distracted as he walked, thinking of her exposed collarbone and the little copper-gold lines that were exposed with it, only snapping out of his daydreaming when he passed through the solar onto the battlements again, noticing the Templars in the training grounds below.

They had secured a legal source of lyrium for the mages and Templars, but they had needed to be redirected here. The Templars had been complaining of headaches for the past few days, much like himself; they had depleted their personal stores on their way to Haven, and had needed to go without for the journey to Skyhold.

Cullen stood, watching them, as they met with the dwarves making their delivery, passing little phials around and drinking deeply.

Just the sight of the other Templars taking their regular daily dose was enough to have his hands shaking, suddenly drenched in sweat, knees weak, head pounding. He almost dropped the box holding his new chess set, and his hand clamped around it so tightly his knuckles would have been white under his gloves.

“ _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,”_ he invoked quietly, his old Benedictions falling from him without a thought as he gracelessly forced himself to turn away and go back to his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

He took a deep breath, placing the chess set down on the surface of his desk as he crossed behind it, opening a drawer to see his own personal lyrium kit staring back at him. He still didn’t know why he had saved it from Haven, instead of a change of clothes or something of the like; he blamed it on instinct, but if he was truly being honest, it was because he knew he was still somewhat dependent on it, even if he had stopped taking it a long time ago. It was still in his blood, the cause of endless headaches and ever worsening nightmares, keeping him from restful sleep.

He pulled the little box out and flipped open the catch on the lid, staring at the contents: the tiny scalpel, a blue-stained phial, a small wooden spoon, a leather bag used to hold the raw lyrium given for field excursions, and a siphon to draw it out safely for preparation.

Everything in it was empty, but it still held far too much significance to him. He couldn’t get rid of it, because what if he needed it again? He should just go down to the courtyard with the others and restock his personal supply for an emergency-

He snapped the lid closed, taking only another few seconds to look at the figure carved on the lid: a man in a robe and hood, longsword held at his chest, blade pointed down in a symbol of mercy.

Cullen stuffed it back into his drawer, jumping when the lunch signal boomed through the castle, and his stomach dropped as a thought came to his mind.

She was the Inquisitor now. He owed it to her to tell her.

 _Maker_ , he was not looking forward to that.

He took a few minutes to gather himself together again, rubbing his temples, before slowly retreating to the main hall for lunch.

Maybe when he was done eating what he could, he would get rid of his heavy armour for the afternoon and go toss some dummies around with Seeker Pentaghast.

The anticipation finally put a smile on his face, and he stepped out of his office again into the cool mountain air, excited for the exertion to come.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa spent the rest of her morning in the main hall, talking to Varric by the fire.

She saw Cullen walk by in a daze, not even recognizing her standing there, and when he had passed, Varric gave her a questioning look.

“We just finished a game of chess,” she explained. “I played a little dirty.”

Varric had laughed, and returned to telling her about his latest chapter of _Swords & Shields_ that he was writing, by her request, for Cassandra.

“I still think this is the worst idea ever,” he told her as he stared at the supplies he had needed to buy to make it happen, “but I’ll be damned if it isn’t also the best.”

Lupa sat down at a table immediately when the lunch signal was called, and watched as the Templars filed in through the main doors, more cheerful than they had been since Haven fell.

The smell of lyrium was strong on them as they filed past her, and she watched them until Ser Barris took a seat next to her. He smiled warmly, dipping his head.

“Feeling better?” she asked him lightly.

“Significantly,” he answered with a laugh. “Not all of us are able to handle the withdrawal symptoms with grace and dignity.”

Lupa thought about Cullen, and how he seemed to be fighting them off well aside from complaining about daily headaches, which he always attributed to stress and poor sleep.

“What is it like?” she asked him tentatively.

“Have you ever seen a drunk taken off his liquor?”

She thought hard, but the memory was there: she had been very young, certainly too young to understand at the time, but one of the Hunters had lost his partner to a bear attack one afternoon and turned to drink. They’d had to restrain him after he attacked her Father for refusing to give him any more mead one night, and Owain’s mother had helped take care of him for weeks before he was clean and sober again.

Lupa hadn’t answered, but the Templar next to her must have seen her expression change. He nodded as he continued. “Lyrium is decidedly stronger than alcohol, as I’m sure you’re aware. There are headaches, fits, night terrors, restlessness, desperation…Lyrium can linger in the bloodstream for up to ten years, even on a single dose. The withdrawal can be very prolonged and painful. Someone of weak will and spirit could be killed by it.”

“But mages take lyrium, too…” she muttered, her stomach turning, suddenly finding the food in front of her not to her liking.

“Mages consume it differently,” Barris told her between mouthfuls. “You’re naturally attuned to the Fade and arcane powers, so your system burns it off naturally, and quickly. We take ours to give us the power to use our own brand of arcane power, which is unnatural, and our bodies hoard the substance for later use.”

His plate was clean in front of him, and he leaned back on the bench, taking a deep, satisfied breath. “Maker, that was delicious.”

“The Chantry puts you through that?” Lupa asked. “Forces you to take lyrium, even knowing what it does to you?”

“It is a sacrifice many of us make willingly to be able to properly protect the charges given to us,” he told her seriously. “We would be insufficient without it.”

Cullen was finally slipping into a spot on the bench across from them. Lupa thought he looked like a cornered animal, spooked and ready to either flee or fight his way out; his eyes were a little glassy, his nostrils flared, a bead of sweat on his brow.

“Commander,” Barris acknowledged from beside her, and she felt him pushing off the bench.

Lupa watched Ser Barris leave to sit with the other Templars up the hall, and when she turned around again, Cullen looked at least a little less tense.

“Everything alright?” she asked quietly.

“I’m… yes, I’m fine… headache…” His mumbling was barely intelligible, but she heard enough.

Why she hadn’t thought of it before now, she didn’t know, but she knew how to treat headaches. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would buy him at least a few hours of reprieve.

“Cullen,” she called to him sternly, and he looked up at her immediately. She wasted no time in standing and leaning over the table, placing two fingers from each hand on either temple, and began her ministrations immediately.

All it took was a little warm, followed by a little cool, repeated until the pain was gone. His hair was slightly damp, from the sweat, no doubt, but it was no bother to her. Instead, she focused on his eyes, watching for the sign of relief that told her she had successfully washed away his pain.

It came with his eyes finally fluttering closed from their wide gaze on her, and she removed her fingers from the sides of his head, sitting back with a smug grin on her face.

“Maker’s breath, it’s – thank you,” he managed, breathy.

“It’s available whenever you need it,” she told him as she returned to her lunch.

He finished his food in silence and left quickly, leaving her to finish her lunch alone, wondering what she would do for the rest of the day.

Maybe Dorian would want to watch the soldiers training with her.

She smiled, giving up on what was left of her food, and began climbing the stairs to find him.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa and Dorian had found someone else training, who was _far_ more entertaining to watch.

They stood on the wall leading from the solar to Cullen’s new office, Romulus napping on the stone behind them, watching shamelessly as the Commander stripped out of his last layer of shirt before laying into his practice dummy again.

“And to think, he turned me down,” Dorian pouted from beside her, but she was too busy remembering the scars that cut across the definition of Cullen’s muscles to answer.

“If you need a moment, love, I’ll wait here for you,” Dorian teased her, finally breaking her out of her reverie. She reached across to smack him on the chest with the back of her hand, and he laughed at her. “What? Too dignified to take care of yourself?”

“You see if I’m not the next time we’re sharing a tent,” she told him, and he blanched.

They continued like that until Cullen gave up, picking up his shirts from their place in the dirt and making his way slowly past the tavern back to his office. Dorian whistled at him loudly, and Lupa laughed when he stopped dead to look at them. She swore she could see him blushing all the way from where they were standing.

“I suppose I’ll leave the poor man with at least some of his dignity,” Dorian sighed. “You realize that he now works for you? You could at least put that authority to good use. I certainly would!”

Lupa just laughed again. She knew he understood better than anyone how much she respected Cullen’s wish to take things slowly. The fact that he hadn’t asked her for far more than she had already given was a true testament to his character.

“I’ll talk to you later, Dorian. I think I’ll go wait for him on his new desk.”

“I hope for your sake that it’s sturdy,” he called back over his shoulder with a grin as he disappeared.

Romulus picked himself up from his nap, yawning widely as he fell in next to Lupa, crossing with her to Cullen’s office in a few short seconds. The door was unlocked, so she let herself in, perching innocently on the corner of his desk to wait.

He appeared shortly after her, already back in one layer of shirt. Lupa hoped she didn’t look too disappointed, and tried to deflect with some light conversation.

“That was quite the training session.”

He looked at her, the flush in his cheeks darkening again. “And just how long were you standing there watching?”

“Well, Dorian and I _were_ watching the soldiers at first, but you put on a much more interesting show,” she teased.

“Well, as long as you enjoyed it…”

Lupa laughed loudly. “Was that a joke?”

“What?” he asked, feining insult. “I’ve been known to make them from time to time!”

Lupa just continued to laugh, picking herself up off the corner of his desk as he passed her, moving back to the middle of the room to stand with Romulus.

“Actually, Inquisitor, since you’re here…”

“Yes?”

He was very serious again, his tone low and heavy with nerves. He had bent down, and was retrieving a small, carved box from a drawer in his new desk, setting it on top and flipping open the lid. Then he sighed, placing both palms flat on the desk, his eyes never leaving the contents of the little kit he had brought out.

Lupa was instantly wary, but waited for him to speak. “As the leader of the Inquisition, you…” he sighed again, his head falling beween his shoulders as if he was shamed. “There’s something I must tell you.”

“And her you go from joking, to grim. This sounds ominous,” Lupa tried for light, but Cullen didn’t seem to hear her.

He simply continued as he stared at the little open box in front of him. “Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well.”

Lupa wanted to remind him that she knew this, that he had told her that one night in her little hut at Haven about this, but something told her to keep quiet and let him continue in his own time.

“Those cut off suffer,” he told her, with a little break in his voice. “Some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I… no longer take it.”

“You stopped?” Lupa asked, hoping she sounded genuine.

“When I first joined the Inquisition,” he told her softly. “It’s been months now.”

She hadn’t considered that it could be fatal until Barris had said so at lunch, and now suddenly, she began to panic. “Cullen, if this can _kill_ you-”

He cut her off. “It hasn’t yet.” He was quiet for a moment before continuing again. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t… I will _not_ be bound to the Order – or that life – any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

He straightened up to look at her finally, his expression set in the work mode of the Commander. “I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I’ll be relieved from duty.”

It was Lupa’s turn to sigh. “Thank you for telling me, Cullen,” she told him. “I respect what you’re doing.”

He nodded, and it looked like he was about to say something else, but she saw him freeze and tense up, his eyes moving between her own and the wolf at her side. “Maker… you already knew, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to say anything until you told me yourself,” Lupa told him, her tone apologetic. “He figured it out when our Therinfall allies joined us, but it wasn’t truly any of our business-”

He was visibly relieved, sinking down with his hands flat on his desk again, gulping in big breaths of air. “Andraste preserve me, I thought you’d…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead opting to close the lid on the tiny box and stow it away again. Since he seemed so distracted, Lupa decided to excuse herself for the night.

She skipped dinner, going instead to the library to find a new book to peruse in front of her fire for the rest of the night.

She’d had precious little time to relax lately, and she was sure she’d find little more in the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, retelling. I'm sorry to do it so much :( 
> 
> The story broke 20 (if you could the prologue) chapters! I'm pretty proud of myself. Thank you so much for reading!


	21. He Had Wrought Amiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, and some lightly descriptive lady biology things. 
> 
> Nothing over the top, I promise.

Lupa ended up taking a sick day.

Her body’s natural cleanse was usually something she appreciated, a relieving sort of renewal that came with little discomfort.

Today, she felt like a Terror was stuck in her belly, trying to claw its way out of her as viciously as possible.

It was a rare thing for it to be this painful: she could remember only a handful of other times in her life where she’d needed to put aside her duties and rest through it.

She had made it to breakfast, where Cullen had, once again, asked if she was okay. She knew she would be pale, and felt herself wincing frequently, her stomach turning; but she insisted she was fine, that whatever was wrong with her would pass without incident, and she would continue with her work.

When they had made it to the new War Room, Josephine had immediately told her to go to bed. She tried to argue, to tell them that she was _fine,_ really, but a hiss escaped her at a particularly painful stab, and they put their collective feet down.

Lupa sighed, but she was definitely grateful to be able to rest it off.

Mother Giselle ambushed her in the main hall on her way back to her new room with a letter about Dorian. She read it as she climbed the stairs up her tower, quietly seething to herself.

She should go to Dorian with it right away, but she was sure he would visit her when he heard she wasn’t feeling well. She would wait and think of the best way to approach it.

Romulus had left her after breakfast, so Lupa found herself alone in her room. There was a huge pile of neglected reports on her desk that she now had to sift through, and she decided to put her new bedside table to use, carrying over her parchment stack, an inkpot, and a quill with a wooden rest.

She also grabbed the book she had picked up from the library last night: a heavy collection of shemlen children’s tales from across Thedas, with their more realistic inspirations. It was a perfect writing block.

Lupa finally stripped out of her pants, leaving her shirt in place, and climbed in to bed, pulling the sheets up to her ribcage, her pillows propped up behind her. Her advisors had promised to deliver copies of each of their Council reports for her, and she didn’t want to be _completely_ unpresentable; Leliana was far too intelligent, and she was sure Cullen would be the one sent to her if the Spymaster had any say.

Before she set in to her work, she administered some of her own healing, much as she had for the Commander the day previous for his headache: warming and cooling in succession. It helped, a little, but she gave up after ten minutes of trying to completely erase the pain. It just wasn’t as effective.

Lupa sighed and started into her pile of parchment. How was there already so much to go through, when they’d been here only, what: two days? Three?

Almost every paper required her signature, and she wondered how she was going to be able to go anywhere and keep the Inquisition running if everything now required her authority. It wasn’t like she could just make decisions and send Cullen’s men out to do all the hard work; she was the only one who could close all the Rifts that were still scattered across the continent, and even if that weren’t the case, she wouldn’t be able to sit back comfortably here while others were risking their lives.

Her large stack was finally depleted about three hours later, the sun almost reaching its peak in the sky. Lupa reached over to put her quill down on its rest on the table beside her, laying her head back and rubbing her eyes, the pressure a welcome relief from the stinging she had begun to feel from all the reading.

She dropped her hands after about half a minute, noticing all the ink on her fingertips of her right hand. She was about to get up to find her waterskin and wash it off over a balcony when a strong but unhurried knock sounded at her door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Just me,” Cullen responded.

Lupa sighed quietly. Of course she had been right. Maybe taking her pants off wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Come on in,” she invited, and she heard him turning the handle a moment later, his heavy footfalls on the steps.

She was surprised to see that he had a wooden tray held in front of him, tightly rolled scrolls tucked into the fabric around his waist so he could make sure he didn’t drop it. She saw a steaming mug, a honeypot and little milk dish, but she smelled food, and realized she was ravenous.

“What’s this, then?” she asked kindly. “Smells like you’ve been bothering the kitchen staff.”

He smiled, his scar twisting, and Lupa felt her pain dissipating to be replaced by a dull throb at the sight. Damn it all, she hated her body right now; it was betraying her on every level.

Cullen began to cross to the other side of her bed, going a little red when he spotted her discarded pants on the floor next to her. “Well, you barely ate breakfast, and – um – I thought…Are you done with these reports now?” he asked suddenly, changing the subject.

Lupa nodded, and he shifted the weight of the tray in his hands to one, holding it flat and steady on one palm, his fingers splayed wide on the bottom, using his free hand to scoop up the reports and tuck them under an arm. He moved her inkpot and quill out of the way, and set the tray down next to her. He had brought her a small bowl of stew with some fresh bread, and little round things she couldn’t identify. She was about to ask what they were when Cullen spoke up again.

“When I was younger, and one of us wasn’t feeling well, my mother would make us this tea from these flowers she grew. She had a huge garden just full of them.” Lupa felt herself growing warm at the tiny, contented smile that crossed his features as he leaned over the mug and inhaled the steam. “She’d always give it to us with a little milk and honey. It never actually helped us get better, but it was comforting, so we would always feel a little better when it was gone. Then she would give us cookies,” he chuckled. “They were simple things, basically just sugar and butter, a little flour to hold it together. They’re still my favourite.”

“That’s what these are?” Lupa asked, reaching over to pick one up.

“I may have stolen a few on the way up,” he grinned at her sheepishly.

“Well, have another,” she laughed at him as she bit into her own.

It was soft and crumbly, but dry, and it tasted just as simple as it sounded, but he was right: they were _delicious_.

“Well, maybe only one more,” she told him through the last few crumbs in her mouth. “I’m not so sure I’m inclined to share them anymore.”

He laughed at her, crossing the room to drop her completed reports for her, the new ones sitting rolled next to them. “There are a couple of things that will require your attention, Inquisitor, and I’d like to just ask you what you’d like to do first so we can send Scout Harding out for a preliminary report.”

“Of course,” she told him through another cookie, a hand flying to cover her mouth when she realized she was spitting out crumbs.

He didn’t seem to see her. “We’ve had reports of unusual activity in the village of Crestwood, in northern Ferelden. Apparently the Rifts in the area are getting out of hand quickly, acting strangely from others we’re aware of.”

“In what way?” Lupa asked, feeling her brow knitting together in concern.

“There are undead attacking the village and the surrounding countryside.”

Corpses? Lovely.

“That sounds… wonderful.”

“Indeed,” Cullen answered her. “Secondly, we’ve lost contact with a group of Inquisition soldiers in the bogs south of the Hinterlands. It’s dangerous territory, as well, but I’m worried about the men who have gone missing.” He sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. “Scout Harding is still out from before Haven, and can be at either location in a day or two.”

Lupa only considered for a moment. Perhaps her reasons were selfish, but she wanted nothing more than to see him untroubled. “Send Harding to the bogs,” she told him firmly. “I’ll head there first, though I’ll need to make a brief stop in Redcliffe along the way. Oh, and make sure Hawke knows I’ll be delayed meeting her – I believe her Warden is holed up in Crestwood, as well.”

“Why do you need to stop in Redcliffe?” he asked, finally crossing the room from her desk back to the couch, which had been moved from in front of the fire for the time being, its back against the bannister of the stairs.

“Mother Giselle got a letter from Dorian’s father,” Lupa explained as he sank into the corner of the couch closest to her. “Apparently, there’s a family retainer waiting at the Gull and Lantern in Redcliffe to talk to him.”

“To ‘talk?’” Cullen countered suspiciously.

“I don’t like it either,” Lupa admitted. “I haven’t told him yet, but I imagine he’ll come to see me soon enough, and then he can read it for himself.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m worried about an ambush, possibly someone hired to forcibly return him home,” she answered again, turning to grab her tea and taste it. It was mild, unassuming, but he had been right; she’d never had tea like this before, but it was relaxing.

“Just… be careful,” he pleaded, a little crease coming up between his downturned brows. “You do know what they do to elves in the Imperium?”

“I’ve heard,” she told him firmly. “They won’t get me alive, I promise you. Death would certainly be preferable.”

He didn’t seem to like her words, but he said nothing else, instead just watching her as if it would be the last time he saw her.

“How are _you_ feeling today?” she asked, deciding it was time for a subject change.

“I’m… alright,” he told her slowly, and she wasn’t sure she believed it. “I’ve felt worse before, but it’s still… it’s frustrating, to be honest.”

Lupa turned to put her mug down carefully before turning back to him and patting the bed beside her. “I’ll help with the headache, at least.”

“No, it’s fine,” he tried to protest. “You should rest-”

“It requires next to no effort,” she cut him off, tone firm. “I’ll be fine.”

He got up reluctantly, sitting down with his back to her hip, turning just enough that she could reach across and find his temples again.

She started with a flush of warm, and his eyes went wide again, just like they had the day before. As she switched to cool, she realized a rather painful fact about the way he was looking at her.

He was terrified.

_You don’t honestly believe I think your magic is some awful thing… Like you’re diseased or something?_

His words suddenly rang out to her. He had spoken them so long ago, but they were an echo of her insecurity with him, and here he was, his fear so evident to her now that it made those words suddenly feel hollow.

Still, she didn’t stop, not until his eyes fluttered closed again, just like the day before, and she immediately dropped her hands.

“Thank you,” he told her again, true relief colouring his voice as he sighed slowly and opened his eyes again to look at her.

“I think I’ll eat my lunch, and then take a nap,” she told him, wincing as her body protested to the sudden change in emotion in her by giving her a particularly sharp pain in her stomach; her pounding heart had kept up its loud staccato, but now it was with pain and discomfort rather than her mild arousal.

He nodded, reaching out to brush her hair behind one of her ears, his palm brushing against her earrings as he followed the line of the shell of it, and Lupa felt her stomach turning again in betrayal. How could he be so afraid of her, but look at her like this, with his honey browns so warm with concern, staring into her like she was the only other person in Thedas?

“I’ll leave you, then,” he told her, the mattress rising again as he stood, walking back across to her desk to retrieve her completed paperwork for her. “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

“Thank you,” she answered, her voice warmer than she expected. “And for lunch.”

“It was nothing,” he answered with a smile as he reached to top of her stairs again. “We’ll let you know if anything important happens.”

Then he was climbing down the stairs, and she held her breath until she heard the door latch behind him.

Lupa sat up straight, leaning over to add some milk and honey to her tea, as he had suggested, grabbing another cookie when she was done. She had no interest in taking a nap, but she had wanted him gone so she could sort out her feelings in peace.

Maybe she should just talk to him, force the issue, and get a straight answer.

Not today. Today, she was resting.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen took a few minutes once he was back in his office to try to calm his racing heart.

He had no issue with her magic, truly he didn’t, but when she was suddenly washing it through his head when he wasn’t used to it…

She was the first mage he had ever allowed to come near him with any sort of healing, and he knew he trusted her, but the way she had just sprung it on him yesterday had startled him badly, and he was afraid today when she offered to do it again for him. He had hoped it wasn’t obvious in his expression, but when the first of the warming went through him in a wave, he had seen her confusion; when it was followed by a wave of cold, he had seen the storm brewing behind her eyes.

She had known.

He was sure she was still wide awake, her nap an excuse to tell him to get out without saying as much, but he was okay with it. If it were him in her place, he was sure he would be feeling very confused.

He dove into his work while his head was clear, getting so much accomplished, he almost wondered how he had managed to do it all.

His headache was creeping back by dinnertime. He scanned the hall for her, but when he didn’t see her, he sought out Dorian instead.

The mage was stormy, muttering to himself as he stabbed his vegetables a little more violently than usual.

“Everything alright?” Cullen asked as he sat across from the Tevinter.

“It will be once I figure out what this ‘family retainer’ wants,” he huffed. “I assume you’ve heard?”

Cullen nodded.

“I don’t know what my father is thinking,” Dorian continued, “but I swear to Andraste, if he tries _anything_ …”

The Tevinter wasn’t much better company, but Cullen listened dutifully to the man’s complaining.

Dorian finally sighed, his shoulders relaxing from their tense square. “Listen to me, complaining like anyone cares! You’re much too kind, Commander, pretending to put up with me.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Cullen answered honestly.

“I’m not sure what you did to that poor girl, but she was in a bit of a state when I went up to see her,” Dorian pushed after a moment of silence, and Cullen bit back a groan.

“I’ll make it up to her,” he countered instead, not wanting to explain himself. Dorian would certainly take some offense to his discomfort.

“You know she just wants to help, don’t you? That she would give you your space if you just told her you were uncomfortable?”

“I know she would,” he said pathetically, rising from his seat. He needed to be elsewhere; why had he thought sitting with Dorian would be a good idea?

“Well, then, tell her next time,” the Tevinter told him before he could escape. “And while you’re at it, tell her the rest. She’s _dying_ to hear it.”

Cullen just turned around and walked away. He was done with the Tevinter and his prying, and his own shame. He was tired of the way he was trying so hard to hold up to his professionalism, and failing horribly.

He was also just incredibly tired.

When he reached his office again, Cullen closed and locked all the doors, sinking into the small chair behind his desk to look over his map and the reports he had set aside earlier in the day.

Maybe if he drowned himself in more work, he could forget all the terrible things he was feeling.

He would do anything if it would make him forget the hurt in her eyes.

 

*                             *                             *

 

When Lupa arrived at breakfast the next day, she had her staff across her back and her armour in place.

She still looked pale, but she had more colour than she had the day before, and she managed to eat a good amount of breakfast without wincing or kneading her stomach, which was promising.

“Leaving already?” Cullen asked as he slid into his usual spot across the table from her.

She nodded, eyes clear and bright. Her expression was carefully neutral.

“Dorian wants to get things done and over with,” she started, breaking the yolk in one of her fried eggs absently. “Then we’re off to the bogs, and I think we’ll go straight north to Crestwood from there. We’ll be gone a while.”

“How long is ‘a while?’” Cullen asked, feeling his stomach sinking.

“Could be two or three months, but I think that’s a worst-case scenario,” she told him between bites of egg-soaked bread.

Two or three months… Maker, she had never been gone that long. Would the Inquisition survive without her?

She must have seen something in his expression, because she pressed her mouth into a hard line. “I don’t like it, either, but it needs to be done. I can’t put it off when lives are at stake. Especially those of our own.”

He nodded, but he felt like someone had just cursed him with a stormcloud over his head. His breakfast suddenly didn’t seem so interesting anymore.

He got up, not sure what he was doing or where he was going. “Good luck, Inquisitor,” he told her. “Send us word if you need anything.”

“I’ll keep you updated,” she told him with a small smile as he walked away.

He went first to his office , but he left for the training grounds a few minutes later. He had received an influx of volunteers since Haven had been lost, and he finally had enough to justify starting a training regimen with them.

Cullen spotted Bull first, the man easily head and shoulders above them all here. He was coming down the steps toward the main gate, trailing a little behind Lupa, Romulus, and Dorian, Varric lost somewhere in the middle. They went first to the stables; they had managed to recover only a fraction of the horses Dennett had come with from Haven, but there were enough for her usual travelling companions, and he watched the stable doors until they emerged again.

They led their mounts to the gate instead of riding through, and when they got there, Cullen was waiting for them. He gave Lupa a hand hopping up onto Ellana’s back, laughing with the others when Bull just grabbed Varric around the chest and deposited him into his saddle.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Bull told the dwarf in disbelief.

“I’m made of stone, remember?” Varric shot back sarcastically.

When Cullen looked back up at Lupa, he found her already looking at him. He felt his face starting to go warm. “Good luck. I know you don’t believe, but Maker watch over you.”

“And you,” she answered politely, as she always did when someone wished her such a sentiment. “I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I certainly hope so,” he murmured, voice low.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” she promised him, and then she was turning Ellana away from him, spurring her into a slow trot, and the others followed suit.

Cullen stood at the gate, watching them until they were out of sight, trying to come to terms with the fact that she had left, again, and taken his heart with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortbread cookies! And chamomile tea. Seriously, the stuff is magical. 
> 
> So... close...


	22. Touch Their Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another long one to make up for the last one being a bit short. 
> 
> Also, two chapters posted today! If you heaven't read 21: He Had Wrought Amiss, go back one.

“Alright, Boss,” Bull told her firmly as she handed him the flat stone and moved to sit in front of him, shaking her tired arms out as she splashed back down into the pond. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” Lupa asked.

“This. Cullen. Everything.”

Of course he had picked up on her distress. She muttered a curse before taking a deep breath and relaxing into the massage he was giving her.

It was easy to talk to Bull. He listened, and he understood people better than anyone else she knew. He always gave the hard truths you needed to hear, instead of the honeyed lies of someone who was afraid to hurt you.

So Lupa talked. She told him of Cullen, their hesitations and reservations, how she _knew_ that everything between them was mutual, but she was suddenly afraid to act on it after their last few days in Skyhold.

“I mean, he told me once that it didn’t matter, that I wouldn’t be me without it. And yet, when I tried to use it to help him, he turned into a deer staring down its hunter!”

“Has anyone ever used their magic on him for something helpful instead of just trying to kill him?” Bull asked.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted.

“Let me put it this way, Boss: if I decided to crack you over your head every time I picked up a rock, how would you feel if Dorian offered to give you a massage with one instead of me?”

Lupa stayed quiet for a moment, but Bull must have thought she understood, because he continued. “Give him time, and don’t spring it on him without any warning again. He needs to learn that not every magic he encounters is destructive, but it’ll take time.”

They both went quiet then, and the big Qunari gave up with the rock, tossing it aside lightly with a soft _plunk_ as it fell under the water again, using his hands instead to work the knots out of her back. He could be surprisingly gentle.

“Any idea when the Vint’s going to turn up again?” Bull asked quietly, his tone worried.

“No idea. I left him with his father,” Lupa told him. Bull and Varric had stayed at the camp, letting Lupa and Dorian go ahead alone with Romulus. “It sounded like his father was trying to make amends, and I decided to give them their privacy. He would have stopped me if he wanted me to stay.”

“Mmm…Good to know the Pavus’ didn’t need a new wiper or something,” he offered, his words sincere even as he joked, lightly twisting the end of her ear. “And remind us not to let you loose on your own with merchants around again. Seriously, Boss, how much did that cost?”

She had picked up a modest new wardrobe after leaving Dorian, to replace the goods she had lost in Haven. Bull and Varric had met her at the Crossroads, where they were talking to the refugees, and they had barely recognized her behind the huge stack of bags and parcels.

“I can’t live out of one outfit for the rest of my life, Bull,” she argued, scandalized. Perhaps she had gone a bit overboard, but it wasn’t like she was carrying it all with them for their trip; she had bought a few new sets of underarmour and smalls, and those would be the only pieces coming along for the ride. The rest would be sent with the next wagon of supplies back to Skyhold for her.

“Good point.”

Bull finally took his hands back, standing to grab his pants from the shore. Another thing she appreciated from the big Qunari was his lack of shame; she had missed having a bathing partner.

He secured his belt back into place and gave Lupa a tight-lipped smile when he was done.

“It’ll be alright, Boss. He’ll be back before the morning, we’ll get on our way, get this shit done, and be back to Skyhold in time for dinner. And if he’s not back by morning… we go on a hunt.”

Lupa smiled as Bull turned away from her. The two of them antagonized each other to no end, but Lupa knew how much Dorian loved it, whether he would admit it or not.

She wondered how he’d react when he realized Bull’s innuendos were true invitations.

Lupa picked herself up only a few minutes later, yawning widely; Bull’s massages always made her sleepy, and today was no exception. She dressed only modestly enough that she wouldn’t startle Varric, and slipped into her and Dorians’ tent, which was empty still except for Romulus.

Lupa didn’t remember falling asleep, but she woke several hours later to the feeling of her hair being lifted gently out of the way. She had learned after Redcliffe that Dorian was a snuggler, and she had shamelessly and selfishly let it continue, hoping the contact would help her fall asleep through her fear.

“Sorry to wake you, love, but it’ll suffocate me,” he murmured, words a little slurred.

Lupa rolled over to look at him, casting a soft green light overhead so she could get a better look at him. He stank of brandy, and he looked tired, but otherwise he seemed fine.

“How did it go?” she asked when she was awake enough to find her voice again.

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning,” he told her as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it behind him, mussing his usually perfect hair. She extinguished the light as he shuffled down next to her, laying on his side to face her, throwing one arm over her side and one behind her head, touching his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she murmured as he rolled onto his back, and she leaned onto his shoulder, already drifting off again.

The sun was filtering through the heavy fabric of the tent when she finally woke again, and Dorian was already gone. Lupa got dressed quickly, pushing her way out of the tent.

She saw Varric and Romulus sitting by the fire, laughing, and when she went to join them, Varric nodded at something behind her.

She spun, and there were Dorian and Bull: the former bent over, hands on his knees as he retched, his back to her; the latter holding a large waterskin in one hand, and holding the mage’s one-armed half-cloak back in the other.

“I thought you said Vints could hold their liquor just as well as us brute-men,” Bull teased.

“Vishante kaffas-” Dorian swore as he retched again. “Venhedis, this is called a _hangover_. It has nothing to do with how well we drink the night before.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Bull teased again, turning around to wink at Lupa, who was trying with everything in her to contain her laughter.

“Well, you might if you – if you had to face down your father who betrayed you the way mine did. I almost envy you brutes, not knowing who your parents are,” Dorian spat.

“It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Bull countered as Dorian bent over retching again.

“Fasta vass,” Dorian swore again as he righted himself a minute later, snatching the waterskin in Bull’s hand.

“If you can make it over here, I’ll help with the headache,” Lupa finally managed, and he slowly started to walk over to her, taking a mouthful of water and spitting it back out viciously behind him.

“Remind me not to do that _ever_ again,” he muttered to her as she reached for his temples.

“What, drink the tavern’s entire stock of brandy in one night, or go reconciling with your father?”

“Fathers,” he sighed as her magic seeped into him. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Maybe mine would adopt you,” Lupa offered lightly. “He’s pretty open-minded, though you’ll have to get used to being referred to as ‘exotic’, and maybe ‘round-ear’ in the beginning. And he’s not a mage, so you won’t have to worry about any blood magic.”

“Wait, what?” Varric asked, suddenly serious, and Bull was back at Dorian’s shoulder, looking particularly defensive.

Dorian sighed again, waiting until Lupa had successfully eradicated his headache to explain himself.

“Well… shit,” Bull muttered when Dorian was done.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement,” Varric answered.

“Dorian, listen,” Bull said very seriously, and Dorian looked surprised as he turned around to watch the Qunari as he spoke. “No one’s going to let anyone change you like that ever again. You know that, right? They’ll have to go through me first – and then everyone else, I expect.”

Dorian accepted Bull’s words in silence, an uncharacteristic amount of vulnerability written on his face. When Bull and Varric finally walked away to gather their gear for the ride, Lupa received a scathing look in return for the raised eyebrow she had given him.

Lupa just laughed at him again, turning back to their tent to gather her own things for the ride south.

Bull had said last night that they would be _back at Skyhold in time for dinner._

She hoped it wouldn’t take as long as she expected.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Meeting Scout Harding in the Fallow Mire took them another three days, which was faster than Lupa had expected.

When they arrived, they spent no more than four days there seeking out their missing soldiers.

The Avvar tribe that lived in the Mire were a nuisance, but Lupa and the others only ever attacked if they were targeted first.

They were able to save their soldiers only after defeating the Chieftan’s son, who succeeded in taking Bull down during the fight; it had taken all of Dorian and Lupa’s combined healing magic to put him back together well enough to walk out of the old ruin on his own feet.

He insisted that he would be well enough to ride for Crestwood in the morning, so they did; it took two weeks, because they had needed to go slow for a few days until Bull was back to his usual self.

They stayed in Crestwood for a week and a half, cleaning up the area. It wasn’t perfect, but the mysterious Rift in the lake was closed, they met Hawke and Alistair, and the village was finally free of their undead assault. They had even managed to capture a small Keep in the area, and Leliana’s scouts had started to move in almost immediately, without an invitation.

That was where they spent their last night before heading home, and Lupa had many stops to make that night.

Her Father had been the first: she didn’t stay long, only giving him the details of how to reach the new Inquisition base before leaving him with a long hug; then she visited Solas, letting him know they’d be leaving for home in the morning; she took some time to explore Crestwood, and found herself trapped, drowning in one of the small caves beneath the old village, before twisting herself out.

She searched for a little longer than she thought necessary, but she finally found Cullen.

_He was trapped in another night terror: he was standing in his old Templar armour, facing down an army of himself, all in various stages of red lyrium corruption._

_The Knight-Commander at the head of the group was like the version of him that Lupa had seen in Redcliffe. He was raising his sword, and her Cullen was snarling in response._

_She stepped between them in a flash, upending her staff and slicing the corrupted Knight-Commander across the throat with the blade at the bottom._

_The entire army behind the man crumbled to dust as he collapsed, scattering in a strong wind, and Lupa looked around for a moment, taking in a trashed and ruined Haven._

_“Lupa?” Cullen asked quietly, his sword still held high._

_She smiled, twisting the Fade, and they were in his office at Skyhold. It was still mostly bare, as Lupa had no idea how furnished it might have become in her absence, and she walked over to lean on a corner of his desk._

_“Well, that was bracing,” she said finally, and Cullen lowered his sword in relief._

_“It seems you’ve a talent for swooping in and saving me when I need it most,” he said with a sigh._

_“I am a woman of many talents, as Dorian likes to say,” she answered. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ll be heading home from Crestwood in the morning.”_

_“It’s about time,” he murmured. “Hawke and Alistair arrived a few days ago. Leliana’s been almost beside herself with excitement.”_

_“I imagine she would be,” Lupa laughed. “Everything been okay while I’ve been gone?”_

_“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he told her. “I’ll save it for when you make it back.”_

_“Sounds good,” she smiled. “I’ll leave you alone, then. Shouldn’t wake you this time, but I’m sorry if it does.”_

_“Oh, it’s alright. I’m sure I would have woken from the nightmare soon anyway.”_

_“That’s not exactly comforting,” she replied with concern._

_“I’ve grown used to it.”_

_Lupa just nodded as she picked herself up off the corner of his desk. Nothing she could do about it anyway._

_“We’ll be home within the week.”_

_“I look forward to it,” he told her, and then she was gone, the rest of her sleep going uninterrupted until dawn._

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa had never been so nervous in her life.

“You’re going to be fine, love,” Dorian told her, taking a hand off the reins to reach out and squeeze her arm.

“What if I’ve totally misread him? What am I going to to?” she retorted, her voice high and panicked. “If he tells me he sees me like his little sister, I don’t-”

“Boss, I’ve seen the looks he gives you,” Bull chimed in. “Unless he has a thing for fucking his sisters, he doesn’t see you as one of them.”

Lupa blanched a little, but tried to use their words to steel herself.

“Listen, Wolfy, I need you to make this work,” Varric’s voice drifted up from behind her. “I’m running dry on ideas for my next _Swords & Shields_…”

“You would _not._ ”

“I’ve done worse,” Varric chuckled, and Lupa felt the heat creeping up her face.

She was tired of guessing, tired of the uncertainty, tired of spending her nights alone wondering.

She had promised him before they left that they would talk when she returned, and here she was, returning.

It was early when they arrived at the gates, too late for breakfast, but a few hours out from lunch. A runner immediately told her that a War Council would be called, and she took her time climbing the steps to the War Room with Romulus.

She took Rom’s armour off, setting it lightly on the floor as she waited for her advisors to arrive. Leliana and Josephine came in together, with Cullen trailing behind. They got to business right away, getting it done and over with as quickly as possible; Lupa wanted to take a hot bath and change into something besides armour for once. It still took well over an hour to get everything completed, and when they called the meeting closed, she took her time bending to pick up Rom’s armour from where she’d discarded it on the floor. When she righted herself again, she found Cullen waiting for her, alone.

“I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” he told her, brows knitting in concern. “Your trip sounded dangerous.”

“It could have been far worse, I think,” she told him with a sigh. “Though I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to have a bath and casual attire.”

He laughed at that, reaching out to hold the door open for her as she finally reached it herself.

“I don’t know that I’ll make it to lunch,” she told him, “but are you free this afternoon?”

“For you,” he told her, “always.”

Creators, she had missed the sound of his voice, especially when it dropped like that, just a little bit throaty and hoarse when he spoke words that were for her alone.

Her nerves exploded back into her stomach again, but she was more sure of herself now than she had been earlier.

“I’ll see you in a bit, then,” she told him, leaving him behind as she hurried to her quarters, itching to wash the dirt of the road off her skin before she saw him again.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen breathed a sigh of relief once she was out of earshot.

The entire time she had been gone, he had spent every spare second dreaming up all the different ways she could have died. He was almost convinced that he would never see her again.

Until she had shown up in his dream almost a week ago, letting him know they were on their way home.

Leliana had made a comment about his sudden change in attitude to him, and he tried to pass it off on a few nights of decent sleep. He was sure the Spymaster had bought none of it.

Seeing her standing there, though, in the flesh, had brought back a memory of her promising that they would talk when she was home again, and he wondered what she wanted to talk to him about.

 _She’s probably going to try to tell me to turn my attentions elsewhere again,_ he thought to himself gloomily, but he wanted to remain hopeful. Maybe there was a chance she wanted to tell him about how much she cared for him, too?

After all, she couldn’t deny being just as affected by his presence as he was by hers; her flushing and recent stammering were a testament to that.

Cullen tried to distract himself with work, but it didn’t help today. When the lunch bell sounded, he grabbed a plate and returned with it to his office to wait for her.

It was much busier than it had been before: his bookshelf now had books to hold, and he had a number of piles behind his desk to sort out as well, to see if any others were worth keeping to him; a practice dummy had been installed next to one of his doors, where he would practice throwing knives when he was feeling particularly frustrated or helpless; he even had a proper, almost regal looking chair to sit in behind his desk, which was covered in quills, inkpots, and a few empty wine bottles.

Every time someone came into his office, he jumped a little, relaxing into a disappointed pout when it wasn’t Lupa. He had given up taking his attention from his reports every time the door opened until he heard her voice, small and shaky with nerves.

“Cullen?”

“Lu – Inquisitor!” he responded automatically, jumping up from his seat too quickly.

She smiled, but it was tight and nervous. She had changed into her favourite style of elven shirt, with the high collar and teardrop-shaped cutout over her sternum, this one in a leafy green with darker, forest green details, and simple black leather pants. Her hair was loose, still a little wet at the ends, cascading over her shoulders to her elbows.

“Are you busy?”

Cullen swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. “Not at present.”

Lupa nodded. “Good. I thought we could talk… alone?”

“Alone?” Cullen managed to ask, his stomach exploding in a confusing mix of nerves and boyish giddiness. “I mean – of course.”

She was waiting on him, and he bent over to take a quick look at the roster for watches: there was a spot on the wall that would be devoid of sentries right now, that overlooked a rather treacherous mountain path. He would have to rectify that; for now, it served exactly the purpose he wanted.

He straightened up, moving to the door at the left of his spot at his desk, holding it open and motioning for her to go through first, before slowly leading them to the secluded stretch.

She stayed silent at his side the entire time, her expression nervous. His mind was going a mile a minute, running through all the possibilities of what could come, when the silence suddenly became unbearable.

He held the door for her again, and she smiled at him as she moved through. Finally, they were alone, and he _had_ to say something, _anything_ , to break the silence.

“It’s a nice day-”

“What?” she asked, surprised, cutting him off.

_Maker’s breath. What are you thinking, Cullen? The weather? Really?_

“It’s-” he broke with a sigh, starting over. “There was something you wished to discuss?”

Lupa was shuffling her feet, her hands wringing in front of her, but it wasn’t until she opened her mouth that she found her bare feet to be so interesting. “Cullen, I care for you, and-” Another stammer, another sigh.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her automatically, trying to process what she was saying to him.

“You said to me, once, that I wouldn’t be me without my magic, but… You left the Templars… but do you really trust mages? Could you… think of me as anything… more?”

 _Andraste preserve me_.

Cullen was sure his heart was going to leap right out of his chest. His armour was stifling now, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of it-

_One step at a time._

“I did, and I could – I mean,” he was struggling to find the words, his brow creasing in frustration at the thought that he might not trust her because of a Maker-given talent, “I do… think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation.” He did not continue to tell her how frequently, stopping himself with a hand against his forehead as he stepped up to look over the outer wall of the fortress.

“What’s stopping you?” she asked him, voice steady but soft.

How could she not know? Wasn’t it obvious? “You’re the Inquisitor – we’re at war, and you… in Haven, when you… I didn’t think it was possible.”

Weren’t they both just a lovely mess of stammering this afternoon.

She slid between him and the wall, leaning against one of the crenellations sultrily as she regarded him with her usual sly mischief. He took an involuntary step towards her when she spoke again.

“And yet I’m still here.”

His blood was roaring through his ears, pounding through him.

“So you are,” he stated. Another step forward. They were so close he could see her pulse jumping in her throat, quick and strong to match his own. His hands found the stone on either side of her hips where she was leaning on it. “It seems too much to ask.” So close, he could press their foreheads together, he could finally, _finally_ , get just a taste of her soft lips against his own. “I want to-”

“Commander.”

Cullen froze, staring at her for a second, before looking over his shoulder at his runner. The poor man clearly had no idea what he’d walked in on – how had he been found? Had the man followed them?

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

Cullen finally stepped back, turning viciously on the man approaching them. He was reading the report as he walked, and hadn’t seen anything.

_Thank the Maker._

That didn’t mean Cullen appreciated the interruption.

“What?” he snarled.

His soldier finally looked up from the board in his hands. “Sister Leliana’s report? You wanted it delivered ‘without delay.’”

He glared at the man, but when he saw Lupa stepping behind him toward the door, he sighed angrily and snatched the document out of his runner’s hands.

“Thank you,” he told the man, though his words rang with anything but sincerity. “As you were.”

His soldier put his right fist over his heart in salute and turned on his heel, leaving them quickly.

Lupa was also walking away, slowly, still facing him. “Perhaps we can conclude our business… later,” was all she said, smiling seductively at him as she passed through the door at her back.

Cullen stayed there for a few minutes to cool down.

So close. He had been _so close_ , and then…

He threw his hands up in the air in frustration, stampeding back to his office in a flustered daze.

When he got back, he locked all the doors before dropping Leliana’s report on his desk and finding his chair. There was a new stack of other reports, none urgent, but the one on top was upside-down so he couldn’t read it.

He immediately reached out to flip it right-side-up, letting out a huff of air. His stomach dropped when he read it.

There were only four words, clearly written in her hand: a little messy, with heavy strokes and large letters.

_Wine_

_My quarters_

_Tonight_

Cullen felt his frustration dissipating, and he smiled wickedly, picking himself up immediately and leaving his office the same way he had come in.

He needed to make a stop at the tavern.

 

*                             *                             *

 

When Lupa finally made it back to the castle proper, she found one of her handmaidens and requested dinner in her quarters.

She rearranged all her new furniture, making sure the couch was in front of the fire again, her new four-post Marcher-style bed was out of the way, a small table in front of the couch so they could put their wine glasses down.

Then she stood on the balcony, hoping to cool off, and finding it to not be very helpful.

She gave up, deciding she wanted to do something with her hair. She spent at least an hour sitting with a portable looking glass in one hand, her magic twisting and smoothing her hair into all kinds of different styles, finally settling on a long braid over one shoulder, her fringe of hair in the front left loose to cover one of the red eyes coloured into her skin.

She perused her new wardrobe, looking for something a little more attractive to wear, and only gave up when the dinner signal rang through the Keep and a knock came to her door.

She knew it was just her handmaiden bringing her food, but her stomach flew into a frenzy at the sound. She ran to answer her door, taking the tray from her servant with a smile and many _thank you’s._

Lupa had a hard time eating, but she knew she needed to. She took her time with it, trying to savour every piece, actually partaking of the mint leaf that was added to her plate today to scrub her teeth down when she was done with her food.

She left her tray on her desk, wondering how long Cullen would make her wait-

Another knock sounded on her door.

She jumped up, heart pounding, butterflies swarming, racing across the room and down the stairs.

He was there, on the other side, smiling at her with two glasses and a bottle of her favourite red. She reached out to take them from him, and she was already halfway back up her steps when she heard the door closing behind her.

Lupa put the bottle and glasses down carefully on the little table between the couch and the fire, taking a deep breath before turning around to look at Cullen again. He was wearing his usual pants, with a black shirt-

He crossed to her in two long strides and crushed his lips against hers.

She was shocked for a moment, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides as she processed what was happening: his hands, so strong, were spanning her back, one near her waist, the other between her shoulder blades, close to the nape of her neck; the hard line of his body was pressed close against her, and she started to sink in to it, finding him relaxed and comfortable; she could feel his arms around her, his biceps tense as he held her close; and finally, his lips, soft and unmoving against hers, sending a jolt through her and her pulse racing between her legs.

It all took only a couple of seconds, and then she was melting like butter into him, finally responding, her hands grabbing desperately at the hard lines of his back muscles in an effort to force them closer together so she could hide the involuntary buck of her hips against him.

They stood like that for another few seconds, or an eternity, and before she could think to move, to try to gain entrance, he was surfacing.

They were both breathing heavily, and Lupa smiled at the soft pink tinge to his lips, a testament to the force with which he had assaulted her. “I’m sorry,” he started, his cheeks colouring to match his lightly swollen lips, which were pulling into a giddy smirk. “That was, um… really nice.”

Lupa laughed, the sound tinkling out from his in her throat. “ _That_ was what I wanted.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, almost sounding surprised, and then his smirk went from giddy to sultry. She was sure he could feel the shiver that just ran down her spine. “Good.”

He was leaning in again, and this time she reached up to meet him, their lips coming together more softly than the last. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and their harsh breathing, but Lupa could barely hear them for the blood rushing through her ears.

She tilted her head, trying to deepen their kiss, and he responded automatically, his mouth starting to open against hers.

She followed his lead, and actually moaned quietly when their tongues finally met. It was a dizzying sensation, and then their hands were grasping frantically, forcing them together as their tongues danced.

This time it was Lupa who pulled away, needing a moment to clear her head. She grabbed his hands from behind her back and led him over to the couch, falling back onto it when she felt it pushing against her shins. She invited him to join her with no more than a look, but he sat at her feet, reaching for one of her hands so she could sit up.

She was a little disappointed, but she complied – had she tried to move too soon? It wasn’t like she was asking him to take her right then and there, she knew that wasn’t the kind of person he was, but maybe _he_ thought she was…

He continued to pull her down on top of him, maneuvering her so he could swing his feet up under her, and she could lie flat on top of him.

Or, they could do things this way.

“I didn’t – want – to risk – crushing you,” he told her between light kisses. She shifted so that one of her legs was draped between his, her other just barely held on by the edge of the couch seat. She couldn’t help but notice the hard jut of his heat against her, and she pushed herself against him again, bringing their lips back together to distract her from the other ideas swirling through her mind.

She felt his hands following her curves along her sides, one coming to rest lightly on her rear while the other sought out the hem of her shirt, pushing its way underneath.

Lupa moaned into him again, lips parting as her hips betrayed her and tilted forward, grinding against him, prompting him to growl and grasp at her. If she didn’t put some space between them-

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his hand on her back restraining her lightly.

“I think I need – I need air,” she stumbled, and he chuckled at her. She got lost in his eyes for a few seconds, the raw honey brown of them warmer than she had ever seen them, his gaze on her lidded. “Creators, this is – you’re – why didn’t we start doing this months ago?”

“At least we’re doing it now,” he murmured with a tiny roll of his hips to punctuate his point.

She moaned at him again, and he pulled her back down, their bottle of wine and the outside world forgotten as they finally indulged in their desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY FINALLY DID IT! I took some liberty with the scene, and I like the way it turned out. 
> 
> I was so excited to get to it, I had to post a second chapter today. We'll see where it goes from here. 
> 
> Also, Dorian. Snuggling. I wish I had a Dorian to chastely snuggle with.


	23. I Shall Embrace You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble chapter! Yay!

Lupa was already smiling when Romulus woke her up for breakfast.

Her sleep had been short; she and Cullen had lain on the couch together until the moon had passed its peak in the sky, laughing at the forgotten bottle of wine, Cullen finally deciding it was time to return to his own bed when Romulus pawed the door open and climbed the stairs to find them still awake.

She had been wound up tight, the ache deep in her core screaming for release, but she was so tired that she passed out right away despite its presence.

Lupa took extra care in her bath, smiling and flushing at the jolt that went through her every time she thought of the night before: his liquid honey, half-lidded gaze on her when she would pull away to catch her breath; strong, heavy arms crushing her closer every time she tried to shift away; gentle calloused hands finding their way to her bare back under her shirt, or desperately digging into her hip as they moved against her will.

He had otherwise kept those wonderful, rough hands of his a respectable distance from the parts of her that had been yearning most for the favour of their attention. For the time being, she could continue to take care of those needs herself. She knew how to appreciate a man who treated her with respect, and she would do nothing short of the same.

When Lupa finally moved to dry herself in front of the fire, she found his abandoned overshirt, smiling at the memory of how it came to be left on the arm of her couch.

_At some point she had managed to coax him out of it, leaving him in a sleeveless undershirt, digging her nails into his biceps as she threw it somewhere over her shoulder. When she had gone to retrieve it for him later, he had shaken his head._

_“Keep it,” he told her. “The last one didn’t make it out of Haven, so you need another one.”_

She picked it up off its new home on the couch, pressing it to her face and taking a deep breath, dragging in the heady scent of him, tinged with the smell of smoke from sitting in front of her fire all night.

She pulled it over her head after finding a sleeveless undershirt of her own, both collars falling low on her chest to expose the smooth expanse of her sternum and her ever-present Fen’Harel pendant, the black fabric of Cullen’s overshirt making her creamy skin and copper-gold vallaslin stand out more starkly than usual. Coupled with a pair of tightly-woven black cotton pants, she felt almost ready to take on the day.

Lupa had regretted not leaving her hair loose the night before, eventually pulling it out of its tight braid when his hand kept trying to tangle itself in her tresses. Today, she stretched her magic, leaving her hair loose, but twisting them into big, soft curls at the ends.

One last check in the looking glass, and then her and Romulus were down the stairs to the main hall for breakfast.

Lupa found her usual seat just as the signal was sounded, and she had just started spooning out a bowl of porridge when Dorian slipped into the seat next to her.

“Good morning,” he said to her, his voice heavy with suggestion, and she turned to see him appraising her attire. “It seems _someone_ had a rather good time of it last night. Look at me, love,” he commanded, grabbing her chin lightly and forcing her to stare him in the eye. Lupa could feel herself going red under his inspection. He tutted. “Though not quite as good as one could hope, it seems. A shame, really. His mother should have named him _Chivalry_.”

“You could take that as your stage name while you’re dancing for Bull,” she countered, diving back into her food.

“You – How dare you-” Dorian flustered, and Lupa laughed kindly.

“You don’t need to hide it from me, Dorian. I know you better than anyone else here.”

Dorian stabbed one of his fried potatoes a little violently, his cheeks colouring red.

They continued to eat in silence for a few minutes, until Lupa caught movement at the edge of her vision.

She looked up to find Cullen slipping into his usual place across from her, this time not bothering to try to hide the look of pride that crossed his features when he saw her in his shirt.

“Good morning,” he smiled, giving Dorian no more than a passing glance, his warm honey browns resting exclusively on her.

“Good morning, Commander,” Dorian spoke up anyway, his tone absolutely dripping with scandal, giving Lupa a wink when Cullen rolled his eyes.

“How was your sleep?” Lupa asked, hoping her tone was casual.

“Short, but actually very restful,” Cullen told her, “though it seems I’m paying for it with a headache more stubborn than normal.”

“Do you want some help with it? I could find you after breakfast,” Lupa offered, hoping she would pick up on the subtle double meaning in her words.

Cullen smiled at her, but Dorian chimed in, examining his nails carefully. “You know, Commander, there are _many_ ways to deal with headaches. Perhaps if you’d been a bit more forward, you wouldn’t be fighting one-” The Tevinter stopped abruptly, turning to look at Lupa with a concerned frown. “Wait, does this mean we can’t sleep together while we’re on the road anymore? Sweet Maker, I’m going to freeze.”

Cullen immediately choked on his food, eyes going wide in shock, and those who had gathered at the table nearest to them immediately fell silent.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a burning desire for my ‘disgusting ladythings,’ I think we’re fine,” Lupa told him with a grin.

“Oh, good,” he sighed, turning back to his breakfast, “because if not, I’m stealing your dog. He’s warmer than you, anyway.”

“Would you rather I was covered in fur?”

“A fair point,” Dorian chuckled.

“As enthralling as this conversation has been,” Cullen interrupted them, his plate in hand, “I think I’ll leave you to sort it out yourselves.”

“Am I coming to see you after I’m done?” Lupa asked him, realizing he hadn’t had the chance to answer her.

“I… would very much appreciate help,” he told her with a nod, and then he was sweeping out of the hall to Solas’ solar.

She watched him until he was gone, turning and catching Dorian’s eye again before diving into what was left of her breakfast with renewed fervor.

“He didn’t know, then?” Dorian asked. “Sorry about that.”

Lupa made an inarticulate noise through a mouthful of sweet bread, swallowing it before she continued. “Makes it easy to explain, instead of me having to awkwardly bring it up.”

“Well, in that case, you’re welcome.” Dorian snatched what was left of the bread from Lupa’s hand, biting into it himself before nodding in the direction the Commander had retreated in. “Are you planning on leaving the poor man to suffer while you take your sweet time?”

Lupa laughed, smacking him on the shoulder as she got up to leave.

“I expect a full report when you’re done,” he commanded her with raised eyebrows. “You know where to find me.”

“Yes, ser,” Lupa threw over her shoulder as she walked away, trying to keep her pace steady as she made her way to Cullen’s office.

Lupa took the long way around, wanting to avoid Solas; she knew he would want to talk to her, and she was just not interested in it at the moment. She would catch him on her way back through to the library.

It still didn’t take her long to reach Cullen’s office. She stopped on the other side of his door for only a moment as she battled with a strange onset of nerves that made no sense to her, shaking her head as she crossed the threshold into his room and shut the door behind her.

“Anything else, Commander?” one of his runners asked as she set down a report for him.

“Not at present,” he told her, and she saluted him before brushing past Lupa through the now-closed door with a nod to her. “Inquisitor.”

When the runner was gone, Lupa quickly shut the door again and slid the latch across to lock it, before circling to the other doors and doing the same.

She saw Cullen pushing his chair back to stand. “No, it’s okay,” she told him, an idea forming in her head, and she gave him a sly grin. “Sit.”

He slowly lowered back into his new chair, his arms spread wide to sit on the rests as he leaned back and watched her.

When she finished locking the last door she turned and walked over to him slowly, purposely taking her time, enjoying the way he looked both a little worried and a little excited by her command.

Lupa saw that the chair was quite large, easy for her to fit onto as well, and her smirk widened, prompting Cullen to raise an eyebrow at her. She stood in front of him and slid one knee along the side of his thigh up to his hip, before stretching to do the same with the other.

When she thought a moment ago about doing this, she hadn’t considered how much bulkier he was than her: she had thought she could kneel there, perfectly upright, barely touching him as she soothed his headache away, watching the way her position over him would set his pulse racing.

Instead, her knees were spread so far apart that she _had_ to rest on his lap, because she _was_ already sitting perfectly upright, and he chuckled at her as she reconsidered what she’d done.

“Well, that didn’t quite turn out the way I wanted it to,” she admitted.

“Trust me, I’m not complaining,” Cullen told her, still laughing quietly as his hands found the backs of her thighs to pull her in closer.

Had she been wearing leather pants, it might have worked; her cotton dug into the velvet of his chair’s seat, and she didn’t budge. Instead his hands found her back, one under the edge of her (his) shirt to the small of her back, the other trailing along her spine to grab her hair just strongly enough that she broke her rigid stance and melted into him, their lips coming together.

Their good mornings were said without words, softly, unhurried, languid. Lupa could feel a strange burning desire behind her navel, like the white-hot coals of a dying fire, and Cullen’s kisses were her fuel.

She pulled away when she could feel his desires starting to match her own beneath her; she wanted nothing more than to stay here like this all day, but there was work to be done, and if she didn’t put some space between them…

Cullen finally let her have enough space to maneuver her hands to the sides of his head, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Lupa whined quietly as he readjusted himself, his hips pressing into hers, and he smirked at her when he heard it.

“Something the matter?” he teased her.

“Shush, you,” she replied. “Do you want help with your headache or not?”

He kept his eyes closed as he nodded, and she let the first wave of warm wash over him. He shuddered underneath her.

“You alright?” she asked him worriedly.

He made an inarticulate noise of confirmation, and she switched to cool.

Lupa had gone through another few rotations when one of the doors rattled.

Cullen opened his eyes, his hand in her hair tensing again, pulling lightly.

“Shhh, close your eyes,” Lupa murmured. “It can wait another few minutes. If I stop now, it could make things worse.”

He nodded and let out the breath he was holding, and Lupa continued as she followed the voices outside the door.

“That’s odd.”

“What?” came a man’s voice.

“It’s locked.” The first voice was a woman’s; both sounded very rural Fereldan.

“What do you mean, it’s locked?” The door rattled again. “Huh. Well, that’s unusual.”

“You know,” the woman said, “I ran into Lucie on my way here – said the Inquisitor had stopped in.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You honestly think they’ve got some super secret business that they would take care of here instead of their big fancy War Room?” There was silence for a minute, and Lupa started to giggle quietly as she switched from cool to warm again. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” the woman was saying, her voice sounding vaguely amused. “If you don’t have anything urgent to report yourself, then maybe we could take an extra patrol on the walls? Maybe they’ll be done their… _business_ meeting by the time we get back.”

“Better than standing here waiting,” the man said, and the woman’s laugh retreated, leaving them in silence.

“Maker…” Cullen relaxed underneath her, taking a deep, relieved sigh and opening his eyes. Lupa took her hands from his temples and placed them lightly on his shoulders. His hand was grabbing her hair again, pulling it, forcing her tip her head back.

She was scared for a moment, until she felt him pressing his lips to the pulse in her throat, and she whimpered again in response, arching into it. He had shaved before coming to see her last night, but skipped it this morning, and it was Lupa’s first experience with stubble: it had scratched against her chin earlier, rough but not uncomfortable; now it was trailing a hot line of kisses down her neck and chest to the top of the valley between her small breasts, and it was her turn to quake at his touch.

Cullen laughed at her against her sternum, softly pressing his lips one more time to the wing of her collarbone. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse.

“Mmm…” she answered as she brought her head back down to look at him, his grip finally leaving her scalp to find the backs of her thighs again. She took a deep, shuddering breath to steady herself, about to get up, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

“So… Dorian?”

Lupa shook her head, trying to clear it. “Well, after Redcliffe, I was having a hard time sleeping… he insisted one afternoon that I take a nap, and climbed in to bed with me in hopes of helping me fall asleep. I woke up flat on my stomach with an arm and a leg thrown over me, and he was snoring in my ear,” she explained with a little embarrassed huff. “It was comforting, and it helped, and he told me he would happily continue to do so if it did… now we just do it out of habit, I guess. We both get cold easily, and I may have Rom, but he doesn’t, so…if it’s a problem, I’ll tell him to stop.”

“Not at all,” Cullen told her immediately. “I’d rather you jump into a naked cuddle pile to keep warm than come down with hypothermia.”

Lupa laughed at that. “I can’t say it hasn’t happened before; Dalish lack of shame and all that.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks,” he told her, as his door rattled again, this time from the direction of the pass from the solar.

“Commander?” came Leliana’s voice from the other side.

 Cullen sighed. “I suppose it’s time to get back to work. That _is_ important, if she’s coming to see me herself.”

“Commander? Is everything alright?” Leliana sounded concerned, or suspicious; Lupa still couldn’t tell the difference.

“Just a moment!” she shouted back, and the Spymaster fell silent as she waited.

Lupa finally slid awkwardly off Cullen’s lap, her inner thighs protesting, and she had to catch herself on the edge of his desk as she stumbled. He laughed, but he leaned forward to catch her upper arm, helping her stand again.

“Creators, you’re going to break me,” she teased quietly.

“Might I remind you that this was _your_ idea?”

Either he didn't catch her true meaning, or he was purposely ignoring it. 

“I’ll see you later?”

“Lunch, at least,” he told her. “Depending on what Leliana has for me, I may need to steal you again this afternoon for proper business.”

“Let me know,” she told him over her shoulder as she unlocked the door, opening it to admit their Spymaster.

Leliana looked mildly amused; nothing got past her. “I am sorry to interrupt, but this is important.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Lupa smiled warmly. “There’s work to be done, after all.”

“That does not mean there is no time for play, Inquisitor,” the Spymaster told her with an uncharacteristic amount of tenderness as she swept past her into Cullen’s office. “Oh, don’t look so embarrassed, Commander. We all knew it would happen sooner or later.”

Lupa snorted as she walked through to the solar, hoping now to catch up with Solas properly for the first time in too long.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas had hoped to finish the first panel of his fresco today, but his dreaming had been troubled, and he found himself trying to down a cup of tea.

He heard the door out to the Commander’s office opening and closing again as he took a shallow sip, and he shuddered at the taste, setting his cup back down with a clatter.

“Something wrong with your tea?”

His Little One was standing there with a raised brow, twisting one of his red eyes into an awkward position. He noted the direction she had come from, the muss of her hair, the red spot on her chin and faint red spots running from under her jaw right down her chest bone and along one of her collarbones.

It was about time.

“It is tea,” he answered instead. “I detest the stuff.”

“I know you do,” she told him. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to shake the dreams from my mind… I may also need a favour.”

That prompted her to drop her mischief, her features rewriting immediately with concern. “What happened?”

Solas jumped to his feet and started pacing, throwing his hands around as he explained. “One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages. Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

“Who?” she asked him.

“Wisdom,” he answered simply.

She came to place her hands on his arms, stopping his panicked movement, causing him to look at her. She knew Wisdom, and she looked absolutely furious at the news.

“We will save it, Solas,” she told him with steel in her voice. “Do you know where the summons was?”

“Orlais,” he answered immediately. “South of here. It felt like the Plains.”

“Good. We can stop in on the way to the Approach.” She dropped her own arms back to her sides with an aggressive sigh.

“Thank you, Little One,” he told her with a small smile, relaxing at the knowledge that she would help him. He reached up to try to smooth her hair down in the back with a hand, thinking about how long it had been since she worried about her appearance enough to curl her hair. She had done it for Owain so often, but he hadn’t seen it since he had died. “I take it you’ve had an enjoyable morning so far?”

She laughed, swatting his arm away playfully. “I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

“Certainly not, with the company you keep,” he answered, but he was still smiling.

Lupa spent the rest of the morning with him, and he showed her how he mixed his paints as he began to work on his fresco again, even letting her help with some of the less delicate work.

By the time they left for lunch, they were both covered in paint, his Little One having stripped down to her undershirt so she wouldn’t ruin the Commander’s outershirt when they started flinging paint at each other.

It felt like it had been forever since they had been able to enjoy each others’ company, and he remembered gratefully just why he cared for her so much; so why was his stomach turning nervously as he left her?

He tried to blame it on his recent lack of transparency with her, but he knew that wasn’t the case.

It was because he knew she saw right through him.

 

*                             *                             *

 

When Leliana had left him, Cullen decided to step into the training grounds to supervise his soldiers and help where he could.

He was treated to an interesting sight: Alistair and Ser Barris, surrounded by a crowd of recruits as they sparred.

“Did you all see that?” Alistair spoke up a moment later, and Cullen saw a few men nod. “We’ll show you again. Delrin?”

They clashed again, exaggerating their swings and spins, freezing at certain points so Alistair could explain what he was doing.

Before he and Hawke had turned up at the front gates, Cullen hadn’t seen the Grey Warden since the time of the Blight; Alistair had been with the Hero of Ferelden at Kinloch Hold. Cullen barely remembered him, as he had still been in his prison when they first met, but he had learned since that the man had a brilliant sense of humour that few truly understood, and that he was an incredible warrior.

Cullen stood back and watched as Alistair and Ser Barris dismissed the soldiers into groups of two to work on whatever they had shown them, staying back and watching the two men work.

Now that he thought about it… he thought he remembered Alistair vaguely from his Templar training. They would be of an age, almost; Cullen knew Alistair had been conscripted by Duncan right before graduating as a full-fledged Templar, sparing him from a life of lyrium dependency and abuse from the Chantry.

Not that becoming a Grey Warden was exactly better, but surviving the Joining meant thirty years or so of hard work, before dying a warrior’s death of honour.

“Not like you to drift off, Commander,” came Alistair’s voice from in front of him, and Cullen blinked to see the Warden walking towards him slowly.

Alistair leaned against the wall next to him, and they looked at each other with mirrored expressions of curious greeting.

“Good group of soldiers you’ve got here,” Alistair commented finally, turning back out to watch them. “Though, to be honest, I expected no less.”

“Thank you,” Cullen replied honestly, the man’s compliment giving him a strong sense of accomplishment.

“I suppose it helps when the Inquisitor is such an inspiring woman,” Alistair continued. “To some more than others, perhaps?”

Cullen just sighed, and smiled.

“A-hah, I thought so!” Alistair laughed. “She’s a good woman. Lovely, too, once you get past the extra eyes and the wolf nose.”

“And what has mister Warden Hero done with his life these past ten years, other than make jokes at others’ expenses?” Cullen asked lightly, and Alistair laughed again.

“Oh, you know, some things never change. Mages still love to feel antagonized, I've always been good at that. It’s really a lot of fun, but none of the ones here seem to _care_. It’s almost a shame I’ve managed to shed the Templar image so completely – Sorry, that’s insensitive, isn’t it? You’ve been really struggling.”

The way Alistair could go from aloof to doting parent in less than a second always took Cullen by surprise, but he brushed it off.

“Could be worse,” he answered. “At least I have someone who offers to help with the headaches, and also happens to be a trained somniari. As far as a support base goes, I’d say mine’s pretty solid.”

“A somniari? I didn’t think any still existed,” Alistair asked, skeptical.

“She wasn’t born a somniari, she learned it. Apparently it’s ‘safer that way,’” Cullen chuckled, recalling one of their earliest conversations together at Haven.

“It’s still weird,” Alistair said quietly.

“Have you heard from anyone else at all?” Cullen asked, of course meaning those he had travelled with during the Blight.

“Well, this is the first I’ve seen of Leliana since after the battle. Natia and Zevran took off somewhere, I’m not sure – there are rumours of her having a lead on curing the Calling, which would be an interesting discovery, to put it lightly. Morrigan disappeared, as she wanted to. Heard she was seen not far from here about a year after the Blight ended, with child. Haven’t heard anything since.” The last admission seemed to be a little difficult for him, but Cullen didn’t push it. “Wynne’s gone, now. A shame really, she was a lovely woman. And I can’t honestly say I was close enough with the rest to care. Not that I was exactly close with anyone, mind you – Natia and I disagreed on many things. I miss her mabari more than anything.”

“Really?” Cullen was mildly surprised.

“I mean, different upbringings and what not; the kinds of things that were morally acceptable to a Brand from Dust Town who got by as a Carta thug, are very different from a young Templar recruit.”

“A fair point.”

Alistair sighed heavily. “I respect her, though. She worked with what she had available, and tried to do what was right by the greatest number of people. If that meant a person here or there had to get sacrificed, she wasn’t afraid to do it for the sake of the greater good. And she saved both of our lives on more than one occasion. I suppose I can’t complain,” he smirked. “I imagine it’s easier for you to work with Lupa.”

“It has its challenges,” Cullen told him.

“Oh?” Alistair sounded like he was ready to delve into a juicy scandal. “Do tell!”

“Well, it gets a little difficult to concentrate…”

“You sly old dog,” Alistair smacked him across the chest. “I’m telling her you said that.”

“Oh, she’s well aware already,” Cullen laughed again.

“Don’t let her go, Cullen,” Alistair told him, suddenly serious again. “I barely know her, but I already know she’s one you don’t want to let slip through your fingers.”

“I don’t know what this is,” Cullen admitted. Just because he wanted things to be more than just something to keep them sane and occupied through the war, didn’t mean she did. “But I sincerely hope I never have to.”

“Leliana told me she’s a sincere sort. Just be honest, and I’m sure she’ll respond in kind,” Alistair told him with a sincere smile before turning to look out over the training field. “Hope you don’t mind us stepping in, but you weren’t here, and we thought they could use some direction.”

“By all means,” Cullen told him. “Things are getting very busy; I have a lead on Corypheus’ little pet, and a war to prepare for.”

“Well, then, get back to it, Mister Commander!” Alistair straightened up, hand on his sword again. “I’ll take over for the rest of the day for you. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve that your soldiers might find interesting.”

“Thank you, Alistair.”

“Hey, maybe _we_ should have a sparring match soon!” Alistair suggested, walking backwards toward the training field again.

“We’ll talk,” Cullen yelled back.

He straightened himself up as Alistair turned his back on him, hand resting comfortably on the pommel of his own sword as he made his way back to his office to work through Leliana’s notes.

_Don’t let her go, Cullen._

He smiled.

As if he needed anyone to tell him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, seriously, sorry for the drabble. 
> 
> I wanted to throw in Alistair, and we hadn't heard from Solas in a while... I'm hoping the next chapter is a bit more organized.


	24. All New; Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas makes a minor slip, and Cullen takes what he needs. 
> 
> Graphic violence and masturbation warning.

“Andaran atish’an, my sister,” said the Clan’s Keeper, bowing his head just slightly as Lupa and her company approached. She was flanked by Solas and Romulus, with Varric and Bull hanging back a bit.

Dorian had come along with them, but was staying at their preliminary camp with Hawke and Alistair, allowing Solas the chance to travel with them for the time being until Wisdom was rescued.

“Ma serannas, hahren,” Lupa answered as she approached.

“It is good to see another of the People, in this place from which we all came,” the Keeper continued. When Lupa finally came to a stop in front of him, she saw him appraising her vallaslin critically. “If that _is_ what you are, of course. Your vallaslin are… particularly unique.”

“Is there an issue?” came Solas’ voice from next to her, sounding defensive.

“Not at all,” the Keeper answered warily. “I am just… unfamiliar with the design. I must admit to finding it odd for one of the People to commit herself to the Dread Wolf.”

Lupa stopped Solas with a look. “I assure you his trust was hard-won,” she told the Keeper, also cautious. She remembered the way she had been turned away repeatedly at the Allsmeets since she had accepted Solas’ teachings, and was not so foolish as to push the issue so strongly as she did then. “I have learned much from Fen’Harel about the history of the People. If you and your Clan were interested, I’d be more than happy to discuss it with you.”

“I would not allow any of my Clan to hear such tainted words as you might whisper to them,” the Keeper shot back, suddenly disgusted and offended.

“How positively close-minded of you,” Solas responded in kind.

“Let us cut to the chase: why are you here? What do you want?” the Keeper demanded. “And why do you come into my presence with an ignorant flat-ear who thinks he knows the struggles and life of _our_ People?”

The Keeper realized he had overstepped when Romulus rumbled out a growl from deep in his chest, flashing his front teeth through his helmet, snapping his jaws.

“You would do well to speak to the Inquisitor with respect,” Bull said deeply and threateningly from somewhere behind her, and the Keeper seemed to look at her in a different light.

It wasn’t necessarily a better one.

“The Inquisitor? I was unaware that the Inquisition was run by one of our own.”

“Oh, you know, be in the wrong place at the wrong time and survive, they think their god sent you to save them. Thankfully they got someone who’s been on that mission since she was twelve,” Lupa answered flippantly. “We decided to stop in when we learned of your presence here to see if you needed help, but it seems you have things well under control, hahren. Should you change your mind regarding my offer, you may contact the Inquisition. Dareth shiral.”

Lupa did not wait to see if the Keeper would respond, turning sharply to leave, Romulus and Solas catching up to her a moment later.

“Sorry, Boss,” Bull told her when they made it a bit farther downstream. “Is it always that difficult?”

“The _People_ can be stubborn twats where Fen’Harel is concerned. _Dirthara-ma,_ ” she swore.

Solas snorted.

“I still don’t understand what you’re doing,” Varric admitted. “I remember Daisy always swearing by this Dread Wolf, and he always sounded like a real stand-up guy – or wolf, whatever. So why is it that you trust him?”

Lupa wanted to laugh; if only Varric knew the irony in his statement. “I’ve explained it to you already,” she told him with a sigh.

“I still don’t get it.”

“Well, what’s safer: having one of the People trying to educate the others, or coming back to the People with a vengeance to teach them the error of their ways?”

“Alright, fair point,” the dwarf conceded.

“We are not far from where my friend was summoned,” Solas chimed in, changing the topic effectively. “Thank you for this, Inquisitor.”

They continued down the worn path quietly, until they came across a number of dead mages.

“Bandits, most likely,” Bull said as they looked at the first one, but it didn’t look like he believed it.

 The next few they came to looked like the bodies at the Temple had: burned, defiled, twisted.

“Are those… claw marks?” Varric asked warily.

“No, no, no, _no_ ,” Solas muttered, pained.

They turned the corner, and Lupa could see the spires forming the summoning circle.

“ _Fenedhis lasa,”_ she swore again.

Solas choked, and they all stopped abruptly when he did.

“Oh, um… sorry. But this is bad,” Lupa offered.

“What’s the matter, Chuckles? Never heard her Inquisitorialness swearing before?”

“No, it’s – nevermind.” Solas shook his head, throwing Lupa an uncomfortable look as Romulus laughed and they hurried to see what had happened.

They rounded another corner, and Lupa slowed.

Solas gasped and ran forward, stopping just short of the perimeter of the summoning circle, staring at the Pride demon that was held in the middle.

Romulus whined sadly, and Lupa picked up her pace again to catch up to Solas.

He was beside himself with rage; she was grateful that his eyes wouldn’t change colour in this form. Their terrible red scared her like nothing else.

“My friend,” he whispered.

“They’ve turned it into a demon,” Lupa stated with disgust.

“Yes.”

“What do you think? It had to be something entirely against its nature to corrupt it like this. Fighting, perhaps?” Lupa suggested.

There was a snap of a twig, and Solas turned immediately toward the sound. Lupa and Romulus spun to face the shemlen mage that was approaching them apprehensively, and Lupa could feel Rom shifting subtly next to her.

“Mages! You’re not with the bandits?” the man asked them timidly. “Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted from fighting that demon-”

“You _summoned_ that demon! Except it was a spirit of _wisdom_ at the time!” Solas lashed out. “You made it _kill_. Twisted it against its purpose!”

“I – I – I can understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can-”

Lupa snorted, and the mage stopped talking.

“We are not here to help _you,_ ” Solas spat.

“A word of advice? I’d hold off on explaining how spirits and demons work to me and my friends, here,” Lupa offered, but the mage seemed not to care.

“Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle-”

“Ah, is that code for dangerous blood mage?” Lupa offered. “I wonder how interested Knight-Captain Cullen would be in telling me _all_ about you.”

“You – you know the old Knight-Captain?” the mage asked as he shrunk into himself.

“Oh, she knows him alright,” Varric laughed behind her.

“He does not go by the title Knight-Captain any longer, but that doesn’t mean he would allow a maleficar to go unpunished…” Lupa threatened.

“How dare you-”

“Shut up,” Solas cut in, his words sharp and clipped, before turning to Lupa and sighing aggressively. His features were angry, set in stone, and Lupa waited for him to issue directions. “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

Lupa nodded. “Bull? Give them all you’ve got.”

“You got it, Boss.”

“Varric, do you have anything up your sleeve that can shatter the crystals?”

“I’ve got something in mind. We’ll see if it works,” Varric answered with a confident nod.

“Good,” Lupa answered. “Get your storm magic ready, Solas. We’ll need to distract it.” 

“Wait, what?” the shemlen mage asked, finally catching up with their plan. “The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it’s a _monster_ now!”

“No thanks to you and your idiocy,” Lupa shot back at the man, and she let Rom slowly start to creep forward, snarling and snapping again.

The shemlen man went wide-eyed for a moment before turning on his heel and fleeing.

Solas laughed cruelly, but Lupa didn’t hold it against him. She turned and nodded to Varric and Bull, and they began their fight.

“Little One!” Solas shouted as Pride roared. “If you can freeze the pillars, I may be able to shatter them!”

So she snapped one of them with cold as Varric shot a particularly violent bolt through one, breaking it to pieces. Solas drew a Fade rock and hurled it at the pillar she had frozen, breaking it at the same time Bull connected his hammer with the base of a third, shattering it into a million tiny, glittering pieces with the force of his blow.

Romulus howled as Pride roared, but he successfully drew the demon’s attention; Lupa hurried to freeze another pillar as Varric lanced another bolt through it, and they waited with bated breath for Bull to smash the last one.

The Pride had reached Romulus and was bending to snatch him up in a giant, clawed hand; he darted out of the way, but not far enough, and Solas had to smash the Pride back with a Fade-green ethereal fist that he conjured.

Pride fell backward onto its rear as Bull upended the last crystal, and suddenly they were looking at a thickly dark female form, its eyes glowing the same colour as Lupa’s Anchor. The change was so sudden that all of them except Solas stood frozen for a good five seconds before they could process what had happened.

Solas ran to her; Wisdom was itself again, and Lupa breathed a sigh of relief, throwing an arm over Rom’s shoulder when he jogged across the field to her side again.

“I’m so sorry,” Solas told Wisdom in elven.

“I’m not. I’m happy. I’m me again,” Wisdom answered in kind. “You helped me – now you must endure. Guide me into death.”

Solas was quiet, turning his face away from the damaged spirit in front of him. His grief was clearly visible, even with only a small portion of his features shown to Lupa from the angle he was standing at. “As you say.”

Lupa noted the mages approaching again as Solas held his hands in front of him, his aura expanding as he helped Wisdom pass, its scarred form dissolving in the wind in front of them.

Romulus howled again, this time low and sad, and Lupa took a small step forward. “Solas, I’m so sorry…. But it was right. You did help it.”

Varric and Bull came to stand with her and Romulus, eyeing the mages uncomfortably, waiting for Solas’ reaction.

Solas nodded, the motion barely visible to her. “Now, I must endure.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Lupa offered as he came to his feet again slowly.

He turned on her, and his expression was sad, but soft. “You already have.” He turned his attention on the mages, and his face twisted in rage and pain again. “Now all that remains is _them_.”

“Thank you,” their maleficar from earlier said to them, not understanding Solas’ expression at all. “We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.”

“You – you tortured and _killed_ my friend.”

Solas was advancing on them quickly, and they all stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape his fury. Lupa couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Dane had seen as his last few minutes in this life took place, after that night-

“We didn’t know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!”

Solas raised a single hand, and Bull stepped forward, but Lupa threw out her arm and stopped him. They watched in awe as Solas tore into the mages in front of them, a combination of white-hot fire and a hand transformed into a long, sharply clawed werewolf paw mutilating those in front of him.

When he was done, they were no more than burned husks, their innards spilling onto the earth in a puddle of liquid fat as they continued to cook.

His hand returned to normal, and it was covered in blood. He looked at it absently before hanging his head. “Damn them all,” he murmured, and Lupa could feel tears building behind her own eyes for his pain. “I need some time alone,” he finally said, his back to them still. “I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

Solas stepped carefully over the dead mages’ charred corpses, disappearing behind a high cliff face without a glance back.

“Damn, Boss. Where’d he learn to do that?” Bull looked unusually worried.

“No idea,” Lupa lied convincingly. “Looks useful, though.”

“Well… shit,” was all Varric said, and they turned around, trudging back to their camp slowly.

They would leave again for the rest of the ride to the Western Approach in the morning. Lupa wished they were turning back home again; they’d been gone already for almost two weeks, and she wondered again what Cullen must be doing in her absence.

Lupa smiled as she decided it was high time she stopped in for a proper visit.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_He hated this one._

_It went on forever, and it seemed to come up every night now._

_He watched them all fall: Hawke, Varric, Anders, Merrill, and everyone else who came to Hawke’s aid, including that blonde elf the Hero of Ferelden had committed herself to; all of the rest of the mages, and the Templars; if there were any innocents, they would be long dead, too._

_How Cullen had managed to be the last one standing, he wasn’t sure; he knew he was a spectacular warrior, but not_ that _good._

_It was how he knew he was dreaming._

_Meredith was advancing on him, flanked by two of the statues she had called to life, her giant greatsword held carelessly in one hand, the red lyrium in it catching the sun._

_“We have done what was needed,” she told him, as she did every night. “The mages are gone, and they will plague the world no longer.”_

_“You’ve taken this too far, Meredith.” He told her the same thing in response every time, because it was the truth. What she had done sickened him then, and even more so now; to think, if_ she _had been a part of this massacre…_

_“Have I truly? Have you forgotten what they did to you? To us? Your brothers and sisters are dead around you because of them. Do you feel no remorse?”_

_She stopped her advance only when she knew she was close enough to strike before he could defend himself._

_“Consider,” she continued, “that you are still standing here because the Maker favours you. Consider that this is his guidance to us: to purge the mages from this land, so that none should fear them again. So that the people,_ our _people, can live in peace and security.”_

_He never liked the way she put emphasis on that sentence._

_“The Maker_ gave _them their talents! They don’t one day wake up and ask to be a mage, knowing full well what happens in the Circles,” he countered angrily. “I refuse to stand by and allow this madness to continue. I consider_ this _to be my guidance from the Maker: that I have been wrong, and this is my chance to prove that I’ve learned. I will bring you down, Meredith, or die. There will be no other way.”_

_She was at the advantage here, and he knew it, but he was afraid of what would happen if he submitted. At least he knew he would wake soon: she would stare at him icily, as she was now, for about a full minute before her greatsword would meet his neck suddenly, and he would open his eyes with a gasp before he could feel the pain._

_So he stared back defiantly, so intent on the woman before him that he missed the first wave of her signature filling the grand, ruined Gallows courtyard. The statues at Meredith’s sides were twisting, turning, trying to pull themselves away; he finally watched as they grew a thick layer of slimy moss and began to crumble to dust and rubble._

_Meredith was still staring at him as if nothing had happened, and she was about to lunge toward him when the rubble under her began to reform around her feet and up to her knees at an alarming rate, cementing her in place. Only a few seconds later had it covered her up to her shoulders, rendering her unable to move, barely to breathe, her arms frozen at her sides and her neck exposed. Her eyes were wide and glassy with panic, skin pale, but when Cullen stepped towards her, she glared again, her now narrowed eyes spelling out his death._

_Lupa finally showed herself over Meredith’s shoulder: she was standing on the platform halfway up the steps to the gates into the city, leaning on the small stone that marked the plaque providing history and information on the area to outsiders._

_Even from his distance, he could see her wearing the traditional robes of the Kirkwall Circle, sporting the flaming circle brand of the Chantry in the centre of her forehead._

_The fact that her magic had worked suggested that she had not, in fact, been made Tranquil, but the very idea that she ever_ could _have been, that someone might have the nerve to-_

_Cullen roared, his rage an all-consuming fire sweeping through him: his heart was racing, blood rushing past his ears, zeroing in on the woman encased in stone in front of him._

_She snarled at him as he prowled towards her; it only took a few steps, but he was almost in her face when he spoke again. “What have you_ done _?”_

_“Only what I had to,” she spat._

_Cullen smashed her sword arm with his shield, both shocked and satisfied when he saw it crumble away, her sword falling uselessly onto the cobblestone as she screamed through clenched teeth in pain. He wasted no time in jabbing his pommel into the joint of her left shoulder, and this time her locked jaw came unhinged as she threw her head back, her voice breaking and bouncing off the high stone walls._

_Cullen had heard enough; Lupa was still watching him, and he didn’t want her to see him torturing the woman, as much as he wanted to do just that. Meredith straightened up to look at him, falling silent abruptly when the cold metal of Cullen’s sword found her exposed throat. He looked into her pained, lined, insane eyes and grimaced._

_“Then I shall do the same,” he told her viciously, swinging his sword widely and severing her head from her shoulders, watching it bounce and roll away before driving his shield into her chest and letting the rest of her disintegrate back onto the stone at his feet._

_He stood there panting, staring at the fractured fragments of Meredith’s sword until he felt soft, cool fingers stroke his cheek, finally turning to see Lupa standing there, her Tranquil brand standing out starkly between two sets of eyes, and he dropped his own sword to wrap her up in a tight, grieving embrace, his shield covering her back._

_He closed his eyes, bending his neck to bury his face in her hair, dragging in a heavy breath laden with her smell: she_ was _a forest, all earth and leafy floral, with a hint of dog from her ever-present canine companion, her sweat like the salty water of the Waking Sea. It was grounding like nothing else he could compare it to._

_He could feel the world spinning around him, but he didn’t look up again until she started to pull away, his arms instinctively tightening around her._

_“Cullen?” she asked him, her voice and aura full of overwhelming concern._

_She was back to herself, wearing a pair of black leather pants and a sky blue sleeveless undershirt, exposing the soft curve of her shoulders, the sharp wings of her collarbones as the neckline plunged to the top of the valley between her breasts._

_He looked back up at her face again abruptly, suddenly aware that she had no breastband on here, feeling a little guilty at the way his thoughts had turned so quickly. Instead he placed a long, soft kiss onto her forehead where her Tranquil brand had been._

_“They – she – you were Tranquil,” he tried to tell her, knowing it sounded insane._

_She didn’t say anything for a moment, letting him continue to hold her close. “That was Meredith?” He nodded against the top of her head, where he’d rested a cheek again. “What a crazy bitch.”_

_Cullen laughed loud and long, letting Lupa go so he could grip his knees, tears streaming from his eyes at her carefree words._

_When he finally managed to collect himself again, he noticed Lupa sitting with her legs dangling off the shoreline of a small, deep pond, her leggings discarded and shirt pulled past the swell of her hips. Cullen finally took a quick look around, admiring the private little forest clearing she had created for them._

_He bent and rolled the cuffs of his own pants up to his knees before sitting down next to her, hip-to-hip, his own feet sinking into the cold water and sending ripples across its calm surface._

_Lupa was watching him, leaning forward with her elbows on her bare knees, her head tipped deeply towards the pond, leaving a section of her neck arched and free of hair under the soft moonlight of wherever they were, the point of her ear sticking out. The opportunity was too delicious to miss, and Cullen bent down to press his lips to the muscle under her ear lobe._

_She moaned quietly, leaning into him subtly, and he trailed more wet kisses down to her collarbone, turning his head to continue down her breastbone as she shifted to lean back on her palms, humming at the sight of her nipples tightening through her thin undershirt. A hand reached out to find the lower hem of her shirt, forgetting that her pants were gone, and he backed off as if electrocuted when he realized he was brushing against the bare skin of her thigh._

_She groaned in defeat, but her eyes opened with a flutter and she gave him a small, sulty smile. “Probably a good idea,” she told him with a throaty chuckle, sitting back up to lean over the edge of her knees to look into the pond again. He saw her reflection ripple to show her as she had looked only minutes ago in Kirkwall, mage robes and Tranquil brand in place._

_Lupa made an inarticulate noise of disgust. “That thing clashes horribly with my vallaslin,” she teased, and Cullen gave her a tight-lipped smile._

_“I’m sorry,” he told her, “but even just the_ thought _-”_

_“I understand,” she told him as she placed a hand on his knee, squeezing reassuringly as her reflection returned to normal. “You know, we could see anything in this pond,” she offered, making her point by turning Cullen’s own reflection into one of a smooth-faced, long-haired farmer, his curls falling loose and heavy to his shoulders, the gaudy scar on his face gone, and he was enraptured by it, soaking it in until it changed again to his more familiar visage. “Mmm, I like the long hair,” she murmured as she took her hand from his knee and threaded her fingers through his short hair near his temples, turning his gaze once it found the back of his head so he was looking at her reflection in the pond. “What do you think? Anything you’d like,” she offered._

_He thought about it for a moment, an idea in his head. He was too afraid to ask, worried she would be offended by his curiosity._

_“I can see you chewing on it,” Lupa teased again with a laugh. “Spit it out!”_

_“Well, I was thinking… Maybe, if you didn’t-” he stopped, closing his eyes in shame._

_“If I didn’t have all these tattoos?” she suggested lightly, going quiet for just a few seconds before she told him, “Look.”_

_He did, and there she was in the pond, perfectly bare-skinned, with only one pair of eyes the same colour as the pond water. She looked much smaller, softer, more demure but less mischievous, the kind of girl you saw in pretty hand-made dresses in a small town, selling her clothing to make enough gold to help pay for dinner for her family._

_He looked at it in wonder for only a few seconds before turning to look at her actual face, which was watching him expressionlessly, and he reached up to trace a line that ran down her nose to the blackened tip, following another from her bottom lip to the underside of her jaw before kissing each of her extra eyes. “Don’t ever get rid of them,” he told her quietly, and she smiled widely before pulling him down with the hand still on the back of his head to kiss him properly._

_She opened her lips against his, and he complied immediately, his tongue delving into her warm mouth, desperately seeking her own, growling quietly when he felt it against his own. His hands found her waist, staying there for a minute or two until his lust got the better of him, and one travelled up to cover one of her small breasts with one of his rough palms, the feeling of her pebbled nipple pressed into him as she arched her back into his touch._

_This time it was her turn to moan into_ his _mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pulling it from her mouth with another tangle of their tongues. He ran his hand across her breast until his fingers found her ribs and his thumb found the tightened point; he teased it, feeling his blood starting to rush again as she responded to him with a squirm and a heavy, whimpering breath into his opened mouth again._

_He tightened his grip on her as he pulled away; he had already overstepped, they weren’t even actually together._

_Wait, did that mean-_

_“Oh, I can’t wait to get home,” she complained, and he chuckled quietly at her._

_“Me, either.”_

_“We haven’t even left the Plains, yet,” she pouted. “We still have another two weeks to the Approach, and then Creators only know how long we’ll need to be there for. And I have to share a tent.”_

_“Why does sharing a tent matter?” he asked, realizing what she meant even as he asked, feeling the heat creeping up his face._

_“I’m not going to answer that,” she told him heavily. “Anyway, I just… wanted to see you, I suppose. In some way or another. At least I can do this.”_

_“I’m glad you did,” he told her honestly, pressing another soft, closed kiss to her lips._

_“How is everything on your end?” Lupa asked._

_“Busy,” he told her. “More and more recruits every day… it could be worse. We, ah… received word from your Keeper yesterday.”_

_Lupa straightened up immediately, concern on her features again. “Is everything okay?”_

_“Something weird is happening in Wycome, and they’re involved. Leliana’s sent scouts to investigate. She’s also sent a few scouts to meet your father. He’s on his way here, with two Hunters.”_

_“I don’t like the sounds of that, but… my papae’s on his way?” She visibly brightened at the news, her face splitting slowly into a large, toothy smile. “Oh, you’re going to love him! He’s a bit of an oddball these days, but he’s got a big heart full of pure gold.”_

_Cullen shifted uncomfortably; he knew meeting the parents was a part of courtship, but he was seriously concerned for the way he was going to be received. The man was Dalish, after all, and his Dalish daughter had chosen a_ human _._

_“Are… Are you sure?” he asked timidly. “I mean, he won’t be – he won’t think I’m-”_

_“You’re what?” she asked him, a hand finding his cheek again, fingertips brushing the edge of his rounded ear, making him flinch and squeeze his eyes shut._

_“Well, I’m… I’m human,” he told her, opening his eyes when she didn’t answer him right away._

_She was smiling again, subtly, her eyes soft and understanding. “I told you I visited him like this while I was healing after Haven? He asked me about you.”_

_“He did?” Cullen was seriously surprised._

_She nodded slowly. “Well, he asked me who had captured my attention. He knew even when I didn’t tell him. I was worried about how he would react, too; almost every Dalish sees such a pairing as a sort of betrayal, especially when the elf in question is one of the People.” She closed her eyes and sighed heavily before her smile returned, and she continued with a chuckle. “The first thing he asked was when I became a fan of ‘exotics.’ He told me that as long as I’m happy, he’s happy. He’ll be thrilled to meet you.”_

_“That doesn’t make it any less terrifying,” Cullen admitted uneasily._

_That prompted a full-bodied laugh from Lupa, and he grinned nervously in response._

_“You’ll be fine,” she told him warmly. “Imagine if you had to meet some noblewoman’s father! This should be much easier.”_

_“Maker help me if I ever did,” he told her, watching as she stood next to him, her legs slipping out of the water smoothly, perfectly dry._

_He stood hastily, afraid to be caught trying to see up the hem of her shirt from the angle he was sitting at. She bent down to retrieve her leathers, and Cullen had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to get himself under control again._

_“I think I’ve tantalized you enough for one night,” Lupa said, and he opened his eyes again to drink in the sight of her before she could leave him. “Are you ready to wake up, or would you rather get some uninterrupted sleep?”_

_“I’ve probably overslept, now,” he admitted with a sigh._

_“I’ll take over and kick you out gently, then.”_

_He stepped forward and grabbed her waist again, amazed at how fragile she seemed. “When will you visit me again?”_

_“Well, I’ll keep you updated every night like usual,” she promised him. “Perhaps… next week? I can give you a detailed account of what the road looks like between the Plains and the Approach.”_

_Cullen laughed. “I look forward to it.”_

_“Me, too,” Lupa murmured, voice low, as she stood on her toes to kiss him once more before drawing away. “Time to get to work again, vhenan. I’ll see you soon.”_

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen’s eyes fluttered open, and he shivered against the cold seeping into his room through the multitude of holes in his ceiling. On a normal morning, the cold would be bracing; today, even it couldn’t help.

He was burning up, his skin flushed, and he could feel the uncomfortable tension in his groin; he was lying on his stomach, and his erection was pressed between him and the mattress.

Cullen let out a short, frustrated breath, flipping onto his back, biting back a hiss as he brushed against his bedsheets. He closed his eyes, and all he could see was Lupa, standing there in her long shirt, so much of her bare before him, eyes lidded and lips slightly swollen from their heady kisses. He knew there had been nothing between her and her shirt, but he could see her taking it off, leaving her in the lingerie set she had worn all those months ago for their card game in Haven-

He grasped himself without meaning to, gasping at the sensation as he felt his exposed head pressing past his thumb, a bead of precome already forming as he dug his nails into his tensed bicep, just like she had that first night in her new quarters.

It was astounding how easy it was to imagine his thick, rough, calloused fingers were her soft, slender ones as he took his first few slow, tentative strokes, his tension building, hips bucking upward when his hand stopped moving. He gave up trying to resist, attempting to quell his guilt by telling himself it was a perfectly healthy thing to do, remembering her alluding to needing it-

He sighed out her name as his grip tightened and his stroked became longer a quicker, the thought of her own wandering hands sending him into a spiral, and he could see it behind his eyelids: she was biting her lip as one hand grabbed at the fabric covering a breast, the other travelling down her stomach to tease her waistband before slipping underneath; her head tilted back, hair spilling over her shoulders, biting her lip as she took care of herself, her own skin flushing, breath coming in loud, unsteady drags.

He realized he had flipped over again, knees spread wide on the mattress as if he were holding himself over her, propping himself up on one arm as he continued to pull on himself, hips rocking in tandem with his strokes. His eyes were still closed, and he could almost hear her biting out his name as she increased her own pace, a frantic hand pulling desperately at the fabric on her chest so she could feel skin against her tensed nipple. Cullen could hear the moan she would give, and he groaned as well, feeling himself starting to reach his climax, the heat searing his palm as he became even harder, and just as he started to shake in anticipation of his release, he could see her reaching her own behind his closed eyes, his name escaping her in a guttural moan, her head thrown back and lips parted as she thrashed-

Cullen buried his face into his pillow as he cried out at the image, spilling himself violently past his already sticky hand onto his bedding, and he held himself there for a few moments before rolling over to collapse on a clean section of his bed, breathing heavily as he came back down from his high, the tension in his groin finally abated. He could still see her: her hands were falling to her sides as she relaxed, too, her half-exposed chest rising and falling heavily as she tried to catch her breath, a contented smile on her lips as she closed her eyes.

He sighed heavily, finally sitting up and noticing that his tub across the room was full of water. When he stood and crossed the room, slipping into the barely-warm water, he realized it was the first morning since Lupa had left that he didn’t wake up with a headache already.

He thanked her silently as he started to scrub himself clean of his blossoming shame, contented and ready to face the challenges of the day with all the strength she had given him, already impatient for the next time they would meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought writing smut was difficult from a woman's perspective, but Maker, writing from the man's? I don't know where it came from, and all I can do is hope it isn't totally wimpy. I'm really sorry if it is, but I have no idea what all that business feels like, so it's hard to describe. 
> 
> Hope Easter was great, or that you're enjoying Passover, or just had a great long weekend if you don't celebrate either of them! Hopefully now that things are back to normal, I'll be updating more regularly again.


	25. And Placed It Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I should maybe give some attention to an important issue in Thedas in this chapter.

Cullen would have given anything for one of Lupa’s headache cures.

She had been gone already for a month; the last he’d heard, she was waiting for his troops to occupy the keep she had managed to capture in the desert of western Orlais before heading to the Emerald Graves, where they were hoping to pick up information on Samson. She would still be gone for another three or four weeks, and he was sure he was going insane without her.

Not only was he anxious to see her home again so he could know for certain that she was safe, but his lyrium withdrawal was getting worse. She was already aware; she told him she really had to fight to get through the last time she visited him, and he was so absorbed by the nightmare that he didn’t believe it was actually her until she ran him through a number of private memories they had shared together. Each morning his headache got worse; Josephine had procured a miracle drink called ‘coffee’ from Antiva City for him, claiming it would help take the edge off. He was now hopelessly addicted to it, as well, but Josephine had assured him that it was absolutely harmless provided he didn’t drink any after dinner.

He’d had to set a new training schedule, leaving the after-lunch drills to his lieutenants while he locked himself in his office; the Templars here preferred to take their regular daily draught at that time, and he gave up trying to be anywhere near them after he nearly attacked one of the low-ranking knights for their phial. If Cassandra hadn’t happened to be there to snap him out of it, he didn’t know what would have happened.

He had asked her to consider a replacement that very day, but she insisted it was something that could be worked around, and that he could keep fighting. He was grateful to hear her words, that someone still had faith in him; he was certainly losing his own faith in himself with each passing day.

Cullen was going through his growing stack of reports in his office, slowly getting through his lunch (he had taken to eating alone since his almost-incident with the poor Templar), when a winded runner came through the door from Solas’ solar.

“Commander!” the man saluted.

“What’s the matter?” Cullen was instantly put on edge by the man’s flushed expression and erratic breathing.

“Lady Nightingale requests your presence in the Main Hall by the throne as soon as you can possibly get there,” the man explained between great gulps of air. “We spotted the company escorting the Inquisitor’s father and Clanmates. They should be here within the sun’s mark.”

Cullen’s stomach exploded with nerves, the coffee he had just finished helping to magnify the sensation to the point of seriously uncomfortable, but he placed his quill down on its wooden rest and capped his inkpot carefully before standing. “Thank you, Gérome. As you were.”

“Commander,” the runner saluted again before crossing the office to exit back to his watch.

Cullen heaved a short sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms before leaving through the same door his runner had entered through.

Solas stopped him when he got to the solar; the elf had returned quietly only a few days previously, on foot and utterly alone. “Are you well, Commander?”

“Just a headache, and… the Inquisitor’s father is almost here,” Cullen explained.

“Ah. Would you like me to fix your headache, at least? You may find the nerves to be less offensive with a clear head,” Solas offered, and Cullen nodded.

“Thank you,” he muttered pathetically as the other elf’s cold fingers found his temples. It was less comfortable that when Lupa did it for him, but Cullen expected that was just because he trusted Solas far less than he did Lupa.

“Do you know her father?” he asked abruptly as his headache ebbed away.

“I cannot say that I do,” Solas answered calmly, taking his hands back, “though I have heard a great deal. He seems to be rather more… open-minded than most Dalish, at any rate. You will be fine, Commander. If he can accept his daughter as the chosen of their terrible Dread Wolf, then I’m sure he’ll find it in his heart to accept her human lover,” Solas told him in dismissal, his voice strangely restrained, turning back to his paint bucket.

Josephine and Leliana were already waiting by the throne, and Cullen hurried across the hall to join them. The Spymaster gave him an appraising eye while the Ambassador fussed over him, flattening the fur of his mantle, making sure all the lines of his uniform were straight, even going so far as to try to fix his hair for him before he stopped her and took to fixing it himself.

“Shoulders back and chin up, Commander,” Josephine told him gently when he gave up on his hair and went to massaging the back of his neck nervously. “The first impression is always important, especially when meeting your lady’s father.”

Cullen wanted to pace nervously, but he was sandwiched between the two women. Instead, he took to wringing out the hilt and pommel of his sword, occasionally reaching up to ensure that his curls were sitting neatly in place.

“How much longer are we going to have to wait?” he asked sharply at one point, worried his stomach was going to reject his lunch from the force of his nerves.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Leliana offered softly from his right.

They entered just over ten minutes later, led by two of Leliana’s elven scouts, taking their time to reach the back of the hall where the advisors were waiting, stopping just short of the foot of the raised dias they were standing on.

Josephine stepped forward from Cullen’s left, offering a respectful bow of her head, voice ringing clearly through the hall. “Andaran atish’an, brothers and sister. We are glad to see you have arrived safely.”

“Ma serannas,” one of the young Hunters invoked from behind the aging elf standing just in front of them.

“You speak elven, my lady?” came the voice of the elder elf as he stepped forward excitedly.

“You have heard the extent of it, I’m afraid,” Josephine replied a little sheepishly.

Cullen knew without a doubt that this man was Lupa’s father: Mahanon, she had told him his name was. Cullen could see that she got her eyes from him, as well as her slightly-overlarge ears that he loved.

“Please allow me to introduce my colleagues,” Josephine continued, and Cullen took a deep, steadying breath. “Sister Leliana, Left Hand to Divine Justinia V, veteran of the Fifth Blight of Ferelden, Nightingale of the Imperial Court of Orlais, and Seneschal of the Inquisition.” Leliana gave a nod to the elves gathered in front of them before smiling kindly at Lupa’s father. Cullen could feel the heat creeping into his face, knowing that his titles would seem far shorter and far less impressive in comparison. “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, former Templar and Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi, Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“It is an honour, Ser,” Lupa’s father exclaimed almost proudly.

Cullen let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and found himself smiling. “The honour is mine, Ser.”

One of Leliana’s scouts stepped forward again. “We ask that the Inquisition welcome Crafter Mahanon,” Lupa’s father nodded deeply again, “Hunter Robyn,” the young lady over Mahanon’s left shoulder stepped forward, “and Hunter Ravon, of Clan Lavellan.” The young man over Mahanon’s right shoulder stepped forward, and he and the young female Hunter looked at each other uncomfortably. Cullen realized that they were quite young, both likely still in their late teens.

Cullen thought long and hard back to Lupa’s lessons on the elven pantheon, studying the tattoos of the three elves in front of him: her father’s was familiar to him, similar to, if not the same as, Owain’s had been in the images of him Lupa had conjured; the Hunters behind him had matching images of a drawn bow, the lady’s a little more detailed than the man’s.

“We thank you for allowing us refuge,” Mahanon spoke again.

“You are more than just guests here; you are family,” Josephine assured him. “Unfortunately, the Inquisitor is still out on business, and is not expected to return for…” She looked at Cullen, unsure of the details herself.

“Another three or four weeks still,” Cullen confirmed. “She has one more stop to make on her way home.”

“Our plan was to stay with the Inquisition for some time,” Mahanon responded, “should we be welcome to. We offer our services to you, however they may be most useful.”

“Thank you,” Leliana answered. “Take the rest of the day to relax, and tomorrow we shall speak.”

“Is there anything you require at the moment?” Josephine asked.

“Ravon and I would appreciate a place to wash away the dirt from the road, and a place to set up a tent,” Robyn ventured, her voice high and soft.

“We will see to it immediately,” Josephine promised.

Mahanon looked directly at Cullen. “I think I can wait on a bath, but perhaps if the Commander isn’t busy, he’d be willing to give me a quick tour of the castle and show me his army?”

Cullen swallowed nervously, but he couldn’t very well turn down a direct request from the man. “I’d be honoured.”

“Excellent! Let me just-” Mahanon made to remove his large pack, and one of Leliana’s scouts hurried to help him with it, shouldering the pack for him and promising to take care of it for him before motioning the Hunters to follow him back out of the hall.

Cullen didn’t miss the distrusting and disdainful looks they threw to him before turning to follow.

“Don’t worry about them, son,” Mahanon told Cullen kindly as he stepped down the dias toward the aging elf. He could see the grey on the man’s temples now that he was closer, the laughter lines on his face and around his eyes standing out sharply. His eyes were kind and warm, exactly like his daughters, and Cullen found himself aching for her. “I had hoped to wait until we got here for them to find out, but they put the pieces together on the road when I got a bit ahead of myself.”

“It’s fine,” Cullen tried to tell him.

“No, it’s not, but there’s only so much that can be done,” Mahanon sighed sadly. “The Hunters never have to see any humans unless they’re attacking the Clan. They don’t trust as easily as us Crafters and Traders do. No matter! I’m absolutely honoured to meet you finally, son. My little girl speaks so highly of you.”

“I – I’m not quite sure how to respond to that,” Cullen admitted, and Mahanon let out a loud, booming, kind laugh, slapping Cullen’s breastplate.

“Ooh, that’s solid,” he commented, shaking out his hand. “How do you hold that all together?” He was looking around Cullen’s sides curiously.

“More latches and buckles than I care to count,” Cullen answered him with a smile as he started down the hall, Lupa’s father hot on his heels.

“Well, good thing Lupa’s got her magic, then, otherwise she’d never get you out of it. She always did have clumsy fingers for such things.”

Cullen choked and stopped abruptly at the casual and unaffected way the words had tumbled from the old elf’s mouth.

“What? You think I’ve never been woken up by my baby and her old lover in the middle of the night? The whole Clan barely slept for almost two months when she was given her vallaslin,” Mahanon continued as he stepped past Cullen, his voice even, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “A word of advice: unless you want the whole keep to hear her, close the windows and give her something to chew on.”  He turned around again when he realized Cullen was still rooted to the spot, his face bright red and eyes wide in shock.

Well, Lupa _had_ warned him.

Mahanon was laughing kindly again, and Cullen shook himself enough to continue walking, taking the elf through the entire keep slowly, explaining about the day-to-day operations of those who stayed at the castle, before taking him through the training yard, careful to pretend their entire exchange in the Keep hadn't happened.

Many of Cullen’s soldiers were ecstatic to be meeting the Inquisitor’s father, and he seemed to be a little overwhelmed by all the positive attention he was getting.

“She deals with this regularly?” he asked Cullen uneasily when they left the training grounds behind.

“Yes,” Cullen told him with a long sigh. “They worship her. She does a very good job of being respectful and accepting all of their blessings without insulting them, even though she doesn’t believe and makes no secret of it.”

“And they’ve accepted her? An elf? A Dalish?”

“She’s been apologized to many times. I think her position has made a lot of humans who might not have bothered to look twice otherwise realize that they’ve been wrong,” Cullen admitted heavily.

“She’s always been like that,” Mahanon said quietly, sounding far away, his gaze a little glassy. “She’s almost impossible to distrust, even with her terrifying vallaslin. I suppose the Dread Wolf chose well.”

They stopped in at the tavern, taking a quiet table near the door, and Mahanon started telling Cullen about Lupa as a child. Cullen laughed often, recognizing a number of facial expressions and speech patterns that she regularly used, and he realized that her father truly was her best friend, and that he was responsible for every ounce of her rebellious streak of mischief.

When Mahanon turned his questions on Cullen, he answered enthusiastically, truly enjoying the man’s company, feeling better than he had since Lupa had left. The elf wasn’t his daughter, but he already felt almost like family.

“Did you see those dirty knife-ears that came in today?”

Cullen immediately fell silent in the middle of a sentence, the words drifting across the tavern to him, and he turned to find out where the insult had come from.

He was very, _very_ careful to let his recruits know that their racism wouldn’t be tolerated, and they usually responded well. He had only had to throw out a handful so far. How this one had managed to slip through…

“They’re not ‘knife-ears,’ Jace,” said another soldier, sounding resigned, as if this was an old argument, and Cullen saw the two men sitting at the bar, their backs to him and Lupa’s father. “They’re some of the Herald’s Clanmates.”

“I don’t care where they’re from, Aron, they have no business in human affairs. They should have stayed where they came from and gone about with their naked frolicking, or whatever it is they do all day. Bad enough our Commander’s got the rabbit _Herald_ wetting his head for him instead of some respectable human girl.”

“You watch what you’re saying, Jace. That’s the _Inquisitor_ and your _Commander_ you’re disrespecting.” The second soldier, Aron, sounded personally insulted. “Why are you here, then? If you’re so against working with elves, you’d have been better in Gaspard’s army. We respect the elves here. They’re no different from us, aside from the way their ears are shaped.”

“They certainly _are_ different. Only thing they’re good for is servitude, and their performance on that front is terrible at best. I’m amazed anything gets done here with a stupid savage in charge.” Jace took a long drink from his tankard, placing it down in front of him, hand still on the handle.

Cullen had heard enough; he turned to look at Mahanon, who was white with disgust, and Cullen reached for one of the knives on his belt.

“No, don’t-” Mahanon tried to stop him, but Cullen cut him off.

“Oh, I won’t hurt him, don’t worry.”

The other patrons were watching him carefully, staying clear of his line of sight when they saw him aiming his knife. The tavern fell eerily quiet as he flicked his wrist, the blade turning end over end, sinking into the wooden tankard in Jace’s hand, not an inch away from the man’s knuckles with a dull _thud;_ even Maryden had stopped playing to watch.

The soldier named Jace froze, his shoulders going tense, and he looked over his shoulder to find out where the blade had come from a few seconds later, meeting Cullen’s icy, furious gaze from across the room with wide, terrified eyes. He held it for ten full seconds before bolting, but Cullen stood and grabbed the man’s arm as he tried to pass, gripping it more tightly than he truly needed to.

“You have two options,” Cullen growled at him, voice low and threatening. “Either you leave on your own before sunrise tomorrow and never return, or you stay, we arrest you, and throw you in the dungeon to receive judgement from the Inquisitor on her return for your disrespect towards her and her Clanmates.”

The man quailed, whimpering pathetically, and Cullen tossed him away in disgust before stepping over to the bar to retrieve his knife.

“I’m so sorry, Commander,” the man named Aron said to him. “He usually keeps it to himself, but he gets a bit mouthy once he’s had a few.”

“He won’t be bothering us any longer, I’m sure,” Cullen responded with a sigh. “I just wish her father hadn’t heard it.”

“Her father’s here, too?” Aron sounded chagrinned. “Maker, he’s the worst kind of idiot.”

“Nice shot, Commander.”

Cullen grinned at the bartender. The dwarf was crass and sarcastic, and it was exactly what everyone needed with their drink around here. “Sorry about your tankard, Cabot. How much will it cost to replace it?”

“Less than a cheap whore. Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so,” Cullen answered with a dark chuckle before turning back to his table.

Mahanon sighed sadly when Cullen joined him again.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Cullen told him.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to see that it goes both ways,” he muttered, swirling his ale before taking a gulp. “The slurs don’t bother me as much as the idea that they think your relationship with my little girl is any of their business.”

Cullen watched Mahanon's grim expression for a few moments, until a quiet voice drifted over his shoulder. 

“Um, excuse me, ser?”

“Oh, Mahanon,” Cullen stepped in when he saw who was leaning over their table, “This is Krem. He’s the Second In Command of the mercenary group led by one of Lupa’s companions.”

“I wanted to apologize to you on behalf of the Bull’s Chargers for that pathetic display,” Krem told Mahanon with a smile. “Your daughter is a remarkable woman and worthy of more respect than any of us could give her combined. If you find anyone else telling you otherwise, I invite you to seek me out; I’m usually somewhere here while our Chief is out travelling.”

“Ma serannas, Krem,” Mahanon answered with a deep nod. “Come, join us!”

“I’d love to. CABOT!” he shouted.

“I’ll be there is a minute, man! Relax!” Cabot called back, and they laughed.

“Mahanon, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d best get back to work,” Cullen told Lupa’s father gravely. He could feel his headache returning with a vengeance, and a dull ache seeping into his joints that told him he needed to have a hot soak and call it a day.

“Of course, son.”

“Don’t you worry, Commander, I’ll take care of him,” Krem assured Cullen with a quick salute.

Mahanon stopped Cullen with a soft hand on his forearm as he passed. “Thank you for standing up for us,” he told Cullen softly. “It would have been easier to just let it go.”

“I would be unworthy of my title and position here if I didn’t,” he answered automatically. Never mind that he would be unworthy of _her_ if he let them speak about her in such a way.

Mahanon smiled, as if reading the thoughts running through his head. “I will be proud to call you ‘son’ and mean it someday, Cullen.”

Cullen smiled widely at the elf in front of him before Krem commanded the man’s attention again, and when Cullen stepped back out into the late-day sun, he felt the strongest sense of self-pride he had ever known.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“I miss bathtubs,” Dorian complained.

Lupa laughed. “What, a stream isn’t luxurious enough for you?”

It was early in the morning, the sun barely touching the horizon, and they were _finally_ heading home.

“Let me be more specific: I miss soap.”

“A big flat rock can do just as well, Dorian,” Bull chimed in. “Does the Boss ever stink when she goes to bed at night?”

“She _never_ stinks,” Dorian countered, making Lupa laugh again. “It’s some weird magic or something. Elf magic? Woman magic? I don’t know.”

“I’m sure Rom would like to argue that point with you.”

“That’s not a fair argument, though,” Varric added. “We all stink to him.”

“Some more than others,” Dorian coughed. “Seriously, Bull, could you stand downwind?”

“Human sweat smells like pork that’s been left in the sun all day. Just saying,” Bull answered, feining insult. “And speaking of weird magic, I’d like to know how you managed to bring enough hair wax with you for the trip. And who’s been cutting it? I swear it hasn’t grown at _all._ ”

“An Altus never shares his hair secrets, Bull,” Dorian scoffed.

They all laughed again, falling quiet a moment later as they left the Emerald Graves behind. They had searched long and hard for the documents Cullen needed regarding Samson, finally finding their first lead when they tracked down a group of refugees that had been locked up in a local mine.

They’d had a few pretty major injuries while they were out: Lupa now had a long scar running the outer length of her left thigh and faint bite marks on her right shoulder from a great bear they’d had to fight off, the bite having also broken one of her collarbones; Bull was still favouring his left hand for doing a lot of things, after a Red Templar smashed his right hand to a pulp with his shield, making Bull spear him on a horn in retaliation since he couldn’t hold his war hammer anymore; Varric had taken an arrow through his forearm, and it took longer than they thought it would to fix him up again; Dorian had almost lost a kidney due to a rather lucky jab from a Venatori warrior in the Approach.

Lupa watched as Bull and Dorian threw each other a charged glance, and smiled quietly to herself. She took in a deep breath of the earthy forest air around them, her thoughts turning toward a hot bath, a real bed, and rough hands on bare skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole racism thing is an important issue in Thedas, especially under the circumstances of being a Dalish elf and a human together. I hadn't really approached it before, but I really felt like I needed to bring it up. 
> 
> Lupa's dad is fun. And I clearly have no idea how to name elves.


	26. Do Not Falter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyrium withdrawal's a bitch.

Lupa watched Blackwall’s brow furrowing, his eyes and forehead lining deeply as he processed what she was telling him.

“Maker’s balls,” he swore. “I knew it had to be bad if you were coming to see me first, but… for fuck’s sake, what are they _thinking?”_

Lupa shook her head slowly and sadly, watching the man in front of her combing his beard with his fingers nervously. “I’m just glad to hear that you’re unaffected. Even Alistair’s been complaining of it, saying it was reaching him here.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” Blackwall answered uneasily. He was quiet a moment before heaving a long, heavy sigh. “I’m glad to see you returned, my Lady, but if you’ll excuse me…”

“You know where to find me if you need me,” Lupa told him defeatedly before leaving the stables, Romulus at her side.

It was still an hour or two to dinner, and she was excited for a proper meal and a long soak, but first she wanted to go see Cullen, and then find her father.

Lupa and Rom ran, not bothering to hide their thrill to be home, darting past the tavern on their way up to the battlements in a race to see who could make it to Cullen’s office first.

Rom won, of course, and she was about to tell him not to get smug about it when she sauntered slowly into Cullen’s office a full minute after him.

“Inquisitor! Welcome back,” said a soldier who was leaning over Romulus, scratching under his chin. “If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.”

Lupa’s heart instantly sank, until the woman’s words truly sank in and she realized what they meant.

“Rom,” she said as her heart continued to pound, and they ran back down to the tavern.

Cassandra wasn’t in her usual place with the practice dummies by the Quartermaster’s office, and Lupa stood there stunned for what felt like an eternity until Romulus told her he could hear them in the large smithhouse nearby.

Lupa was gulping in desperate breaths again from their sprint, and she couldn’t slow her breathing enough to steady herself before entering, instead throwing the door wide. They were across the room, standing in front of the forge, their argument sounding old and strained.

“You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?” Cassandra asked with a tired sigh, her stance rigid and arms crossed.

“I expect you to keep your word,” Cullen shot back, and even from the other side of the room, Lupa could see the pain etched into every line of him, his voice straining. “It’s so much worse, and it’s relentless – I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit!” Cassandra chastised him, and Lupa started to cross the room to them as Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose before throwing his hands in the air.

“If I’m unable to fulfil what vows I kept, then _nothing good has come of this!_ Would you honestly rather save face than admit-”

He had seen her, and in an instant his expression went from pained and frustrated to shocked and guilty when she finally reached them. He heaved a heavy sigh and broke their eye contact before brushing past her out the door. She barely heard him speak.

“Forgive me.”

Cassandra just shook her head until the door clicked closed. “Welcome home, Inquisitor,” she said with a quiet snort and a short, agitated breath. “And people say _I’m_ stubborn. This is ridiculous. I assume, given the nature of your association, that he’s told you he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

Lupa nodded. “I respect his decision.”

“As do I,” Cassandra told her, finally uncrossing her arms and shifting her feet. “Not that he’s willing to listen. What have you heard while you’ve been away?”

“I knew his symptoms were getting worse, but he didn’t want to talk about it,” Lupa admitted quietly. “I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me everything.”

“He was not,” the Seeker confirmed sadly. “He almost attacked one of the Knights-Templar for their lyrium phial one afternoon without meaning to, about three and a half weeks ago – he was lucky I was there to stop him. He was worried that he had gone too far, but when I told him he was fine, he seemed to believe me.” She shook her head again, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “Today, he asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused; it’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far…”

Lupa didn’t know what to say. She stood there speechless for a time, hurting for him, watching Cassandra stare into the fire of the forge.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked quietly, more to herself than anything.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” Cassandra answered, perhaps not understanding what she meant, or perhaps choosing to ignore the true intent of Lupa’s words. “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to… risk your disappointment.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“If anyone could, it’s you,” Cassandra told her confidently with a nod before turning back to the fire. “Mages have always made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order: mind, body, and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash.” She turned to look at them again when Romulus whined sadly at Lupa’s side. “Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself – and anyone who would follow suit – that it’s possible. He _can_ do this. You know it. I knew it when we first met in Kirkwall. Talk to him.” The Seeker was backing away, turning to throw her final words over her shoulder as she crossed back to her practice dummies. “Decide if now is the time.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen never thought he’d be so upset to see her come home.

How he made it back to his office, he didn’t know; he barely remembered dismissing the poor girl he had snatched to stand watch in his office for him, closed and locked all but one of the doors so he could have some peace, fuming at Cassandra, convinced that she was going back on her promise to him.

All he knew was that he was staring at the stupid lyrium kit he had saved from Haven. It took up all of his vision, all of his attention, as if nothing else in the world mattered at that moment but the tiny blue-stained phial staring back at him from its safe haven in the velvet lining of the carved wood.

It brought up such an overwhelming wash of emotions, he couldn’t seem to pull them apart. He was shaking harder than a naked toddler in a snowstorm, pain racking through him in waves, each stronger than the last. It was all thanks to this little box and its contents that he was staring at: all the regret, all the pain, all the betrayal and the nightmares, driving him away from his family, from any prospects of friends, or even _love_ , Maker forbid. There was no way Lupa could continue to care for him in this state. He was pathetic, dependent, holding back both the little elf he cherished more than anything and the organization she was trying to run-

His face screwed up, ugly as the rage that had suddenly welled up in him, stronger than any pain he had felt so far, and he roared as he picked up his old lyrium kit and threw it full force across the room.

He barely registered Romulus yelping in surprise and pushing Lupa out of the way; the box sailed past her face – too close for comfort – before it smashed against the doorframe, its contents scattering across the floor as his lover and her dog straightened themselves up again before turning to lock the door behind them.

“Maker’s breath, I didn’t hear you enter. I-” Cullen sighed, his shoulders dropping in shame as he closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. “Forgive me,” he asked her again, sure she would be more reasonable that the Seeker, that she would happily kick him out for this.

“Well, at least you missed,” Lupa tried to tease him, and he started to slowly walk around his desk. “Talk to me.”

“You don’t have to-” a violent shudder racked through him with another wave of pain, and he reached out to grab his desk with a loud groan as he felt his knees go weak beneath him.

She immediately started walking toward him, but Romulus made it first, leaning between Cullen and the desk to support him. Cullen threw up an arm to ward Lupa away, disgusted with himself for such a pathetic display in her presence. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he explained achingly, hoping she would believe him.

“I know that,” she told him firmly. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, but he closed his eyes again and amended himself. “I don’t know.” He managed to push himself off his desk and step away from Romulus, who watched him tensely, ready to spring back to Cullen’s side if he should need it. He didn’t know where the strength and energy had come from, but suddenly there were words tumbling out of his mouth that he had hoped to never have to tell her. “You asked forever ago about what happened at the Fereldan Circle? It was taken over by abominations. The Templars – _my friends_ – were slaughtered, and I was held by a Desire demon – it was…” He saw her brow furrowing in concern, or maybe horror, and he turned his back to her, looking out one of his tiny windows instead of watching her, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. “It tortured me. It – _they_ – tried to break my mind, and I – how can you be the same person after that?”

His voice broke, and he took a deep breath before continuing, still not turning around to look at her. “Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall.” A low, dark, humourless chuckle escaped him. “I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. The Circle fell, and – and innocent people died in the streets. I couldn’t help them – it was too late…” Cullen turned back to her finally, and when he saw the sympathy in her eyes, he almost spat his last words at her. “Can’t you see why I want _nothing_ to do with that life?!”

“Of course I can,” she answered softly, understandingly, immediately. “I-”

“Don’t!” Cullen cut her off angrily. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

Lupa had come to stand with Romulus between his desk and his bookcases, and she placed her hands on her waist, elbows out to her sides as he started to walk towards her and pace restlessly in front of her.

“I thought this would be better – that I would regain some control over my life,” he confessed to her, his voice softer. “But these _thoughts_ , they won’t leave me… How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause…” The answer was so clear to him, and he wished he hadn’t thrown his kit across the room now. “I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry. I should be taking it. I should be _taking it!”_

 His fist connected with his bookshelf painfully, and he left it there when she spoke again from over his shoulder.

“I don’t give two dirty nugs’ asses about the Inquisition, Cullen,” she told him aggressively, and under different circumstances, he may have even laughed at her words. “Is this _really_ what _you_ want?”

Cullen opened his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them, and she moved to stand in front of him, her challenge written into every line of her face.

_She hasn’t left_ , he realized as he relaxed, his fist opening and his arm falling back to his side. _She’s still here. She still_ cares.

Cullen didn’t know how he had thought not even a minute ago that he needed to be taking the lyrium again. He didn’t know why he thought he had no support, or that the Seeker was wrong; the truth, the _real_ truth, was far from what he had just told her it was.

He let out a huff of air. “No,” he admitted weakly, dropping her gaze, speaking up again when he saw her moving closer in his peripheral vision. “But… these memories have always haunted me – if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…” His voice was no more than a cowardly plea by the end, but her eyes were full of steel when he found them again – all six of them.

She placed a commanding hand on his chestplate. “You can,” she told him firmly, the authority of the Inquisitor in her tone.

He took another sigh, his relief a soothing balm, taking the edge off the waves of pain that were still washing through him mercilessly. “All right.”

“You forget that I’ve seen much of the worst of it already,” she continued. “How many of your nightmares have I saved you from, now? I don’t intend to stop until you tell me to.”

Cullen was so done, so far gone – those words meant _so much_ to him, but after everything else today, he found he could barely stay standing.

“Please, I – I need to take the rest of the day to myself,” he told her shamefully, without considering how it may affect her, but she just nodded sadly at him before taking her hand back and placing it on Romulus’ head.

She left without another backwards glance, her shoulders slumped and bare feet dragging, closing the door softly behind her.

When she was gone, Cullen crossed the room in only a few long strides, locking the door again and sinking to the floor with his back to it, letting his shame wash over him, stronger than the withdrawal pain had ever been.

When the first hot tear fell down his face, he let the rest follow in a flood.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus had never smelled such a terrifying jumble of scents as he had just smelled on Cullen.

His Lupa was clearly upset at having been dismissed, but she was trying to be understanding. They had immediately gone to search for her Father, but their reunion was far less joyous than he was sure they had hoped.

They shared dinner with him, and then shown him her new quarters, sitting on the balcony with a large flask of whatever the astringent stuff her Father had brought was as they caught up, letting Romulus take a shallow, disjointed nap in front of the fire.

He woke to a hug from Mahanon, and he licked the man’s face a few times, his tail thumping against the floor as he laughed.

Lupa collapsed into her bed when the door closed behind her Father, and Romulus picked himself up from in front of the fire to join her.

She was crying quietly, and he licked one of her tears away with a low whine before settling down next to her.

She threw an arm over him, turning on her side. _We were gone for so long… I can’t believe he didn’t tell me exactly how bad it was getting._

Romulus reminded her that there was little she could do for him anyway, but she didn’t seem too pleased by his response.

_I know that, but he didn’t even_ tell _me he was feeling worse, or anything. I thought he…_

Romulus was quiet for a moment, but he realized that Cullen didn’t really understand that such support was something he could expect from a relationship. He didn’t seem to have much success with friendships or any other meaningful intimate relationships before, by the sounds of it.

_You’re right… you always are._ Lupa sighed heavily again, sniffling quietly. _The only other woman he ever truly cared about had to end up on the end of his sword. Stupid Chantry Circles. I just want to make sure he’s okay, but he doesn’t want me to help. I don’t like this kind of hand-tying._

Rom laughed, prompting a reluctant giggle from her. They laid there comfortably for another half an hour, until she yawned loudly and sat up again, leaving his back cold from the sudden lack of contact.

He watched her as she got rid of her clothing finally, pulling her blankets back and slipping under them next to him.

_Early night, I think. What a trying day._

Romulus could do nothing more than agree.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa woke early the next morning without Rom’s help. The sun was still hiding behind the mountains, and a quiet serving girl was gently placing logs in her fire.

“Oh! Good morning, Inquisitor,” she said softly when Lupa propped herself up on her elbows. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t you. I went to bed early last night,” she assured the girl, reaching out to grab a shirt after her servant turned back to the fire again.

“I won’t be long, Inquisitor,” she promised over her shoulder. “Just a few more buckets of water for your bath, and we’ll leave you in peace.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it, I’m in no hurry.”

“Thank you, Your Worship.”

Lupa settled back down into her pillows until the girls were done carting her water, Romulus’ head resting across her stomach. When they were gone, she slipped out of bed a little gingerly and heated her bath before sinking into the steaming water with a contented groan.

“Dorian was right: I don’t know how we ever lived without soap before, Rom,” she called into the other room, and just barely heard him laughing at her as she dipped her head under the water.

She stood drying her skin and hair in front of the fire half an hour later, getting dressed unhurriedly and sitting at her desk to go through her small mountain of reports until the breakfast signal sounded.

Her stomach sank when she realized that Cullen had either skipped breakfast or had it delivered, trying not to let it show as she worked her way through her porridge and mixed fruits. She was surrounded by her friends, who were busy interrogating her father, trying to coax embarrassing stories out of him.

Josephine had called their War Council for after lunch today, leaving Lupa and the others free for the morning. She decided to get up from her seat as her father launched into the story of how she had almost had her face kicked in by one of their halla when she was six.

The walk to Cullen’s office seemed to drag on forever, and with each step, Lupa’s stomach exploded into another new flight of nervous butterflies.

She wouldn’t be turned away, however, and her heart started to pound when she saw the same soldier placing a report on his desk as she entered from Solas’ solar.

“Hello again, Inquisitor,” the soldier said with a smile and a salute when she straightened up again.

“Have you seen the Commander today?” Lupa asked anxiously.

“He was taking a stroll out that way,” she answered, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the tavern. “If I may be so bold, he looked significantly better than he did yesterday.”

Lupa let out a relieved huff and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

Lupa immediately swept out, past the tavern to the secluded stretch of wall she knew she would be able to find him at.

She was careful to open the door quietly, but he still turned to watch her approach after she closed it behind her, turning back to the view over the wall when she was halfway to him.

He looked so much more relaxed today, his shoulders square and back straight, hands sitting lazily and comfortably on the pommel of his sword.

Lupa’s bare feet slapped against the stone, and he waited until she was close enough to hear his low voice before closing his eyes serenely and sighing, a small, contented smile stretching across his face.

“I wanted to thank you… When you came to see me… if there’s anything-” he let out a huff before shaking his head with a light chuckle, turning to face her finally with a hand on the back of his neck. “This sounded _much_ better in my head.”

“You _look_ better today,” Lupa told him a little timidly. “Are you _feeling_ better?”

“I… yes,” he told her, and she knew his words were sincere even though he turned his face away from her.

“I knew it was getting worse, but… it hasn’t always been that bad, has it?”

“The pain comes and goes,” he admitted with some difficulty. “Sometimes, I feel as if I’m back there… I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

“I’m just… so relieved that you’re alright,” Lupa admitted in turn.

“I am,” he promised her, turning to look back over the edge of the wall to the valley below them, and Lupa stepped up to stand next to him as he continued to speak. “I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was… not myself after that. I was _angry,”_ he growled, but the sound was toothless, nothing more than emphasis. “For years that anger blinded me – and I guess that Desire you offed for me back in Haven didn’t help matters. I’m not proud of the man it made me. The way I saw mages… I’m not sure I would have cared about you, and the thought of that _sickens_ me.”

Despite all of the terrible things he had just told her, Lupa could feel her heart swelling, and she reached out to touch his gloved hand on the crenellation, smiling at him when he wound his fingers into hers.

“Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start,” he continued with another private smile for her.

“For what it’s worth, I rather like the man you are now,” Lupa told him with just a hint of her usual mischief, and he laughed warmly at her before his expression turned stormy again.

“Even after…” He left the question hanging.

Lupa reached out for his other hand and drew herself closer, craning her neck to look him in the eyes squarely, holding herself no more than an inch away from him. “I care about you, too,” she told him with a small shake of her head. “You’ve done _nothing_ to change that.”

His face relaxed into warm affection, and he took a hand back to brush some hair out of her face, his fingers lingering on the tip of her ear. She closed her eyes, basking in the atmosphere and his soft touch until he spoke up again.

“What about you?” he asked softly. “You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?”

“Honestly?” she asked, and he raised his brows in response. “I’m terrified. So many people depend on us. On _me_ ,” Lupa clarified, screwing her expression into an exaggerated show of disbelief, prompting another chuckle. “Corypheus is still out there.”

Cullen nodded gravely. “We’ve made great strides, though. Do not doubt yourself, or the Inquisition, just yet. If there’s anything I can do, you have just to ask.”

Lupa grinned, and Cullen frowned nervously at her. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” she told him seductively, “but I don’t know if you’ll like them just yet.”

Cullen laughed deeply in his chest, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead before pulling her in close to his armoured side with a strong arm across her back, his gloved hand resting softly on the wide outer curve of her hip. “Give it time,” was all he said.

Lupa smiled, taking a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, content to stand there leaning on her fortress of a lover until the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some liberty with the dialogue. I feel like it sounds a bit more natural now, and it definitely fits past events of the story better. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Sorry about the (maybe) feels.


	27. In His Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what to tell you here, besides it being a bit NSFW.

Lupa collapsed onto her bed with a huff, the air from the mattress fluttering the edges of her blankets at the sudden weight. Their War Council had been… draining, to say the least; she scarfed down her dinner as quickly as possible when it was concluded in an effort to avoid the company of all but a select few people, one of which had been held behind after their meeting by their Spymaster.

She was surprisingly exhausted, especially since her morning was spent working comfortably with Cullen as he made rounds and checked watches after their chat. She wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping now, but she knew she wouldn’t be doing herself any favours if she did, and instead sat up, rubbing her eyes, trying to convince herself to move over to her desk and work on sorting through all the reports she needed to catch up on.

First though, she needed to change out of her day clothes into something a bit more comfortable for an easy evening spent bending over a desk.

Cullen’s overlarge shirt stuck out harshly from all of the much smaller shirts in her closet, and she smiled as she reached for it, setting it down at her side before unclasping the neck of her elven blouse and pulling it impatiently over her head. She threw it carelessly over her shoulder, and followed it a few seconds later with her breastband, shimmying her way out of her leathers into a pair of loose-fitting cotton pants, pulling the lacing at the waist tight and tying it into a bow so they wouldn’t fall down.

Lupa had just emerged again when she heard a quiet knock on her door, and she crossed the room and down the stairs to answer, reaching up to unclasp her pendant as she did so.

“ _Papae!”_ she exclaimed with a wide smile before stepping aside and letting him in.

“You’re not all by yourself up here?” he asked her, sounding surprised.

“I have Rom with me,” she told him, gesturing to the giant mass of white fur that was rising and falling slowly in front of the fire.

“Oh, good. I hadn’t planned on keeping you long, anyway,” her father told her hurriedly, handing her a long package wrapped in heavy fabric. She dropped her necklace the mantle over the fire before taking it. “I let Cabot try some of my mead, and he’s decided to put me to work! Better than sitting around all day, at any rate. That’s how old age and Falon’Din catch up with you.”

Lupa laughed warmly and dropped to sit on her couch, which was once again positioned in front of her roaring hearth. “What’s this, then?”

“Why are you asking me? Just open it!” he told her excitedly, and she set her magic to work unwinding the fabric.

It took only a few seconds for the wrapping to fall to the floor, and Lupa gasped at the staff she had just uncovered. It was simple, carved from a smooth, hard wood, polished and stained a rich, dark brown, a little twisted. She could see the knots in the wood where extra stems and fronds would have been shaved off, but they had been kept on the upper tip, each finger carved delicately with a wolf’s head, their little eyes glowing when she reached out and grasped the cool ironbark grip, reacting to her magic. The blade at the bottom tip was long, flat, and sharp, made of a bright silverite; it was capped with a rounded little sheath of the same wood as her staff, lined with soft velvet and tipped with a flat disc of ironbark. She took the cap off the blade and ran her thumb across the edge of it to listen to it sing.

“All of the parts are interchangeable, see? So if you happen to find something you think feels better for a grip, or if you damage the blade beyond repair, you can just install a new piece and the staff will still be good as new! And there’s room for some of those fancy enchanting things that adorable little dwarf does for you,” her father told her breathlessly as he pointed out a few runes that had already been installed around the neck of the staff. “Plus the little footpiece will protect the blade so you can use it as a walking stick if you need the extra support when you’re out exploring. The Keeper helped me craft it for you, and we managed to make it _very_ special. You can channel _any_ element through it for basic combat, instead of just one base element like the ones that are usually made. Not only will it be incredibly effective and advantageous for you on the field, but your enemies will always be at your mercy.”

He looked proud, smug even, and Lupa smothered him in a hug, grateful tears beginning to build behind her eyes. “ _Papae,_ it’s _beautiful_. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Nonsense,” he told her quietly as she let him go. “If a father can’t protect his little girl, the least he can do is make sure she’s able to protect herself. Just come back alive at the end of your journeys. That’s all the thanks I need.”

Lupa watched him for a few seconds until he put an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. She rested her head against his chest as he stroked her hair paternally and hummed an old Dalish folk tune under his breath.

They stayed there silently for long enough that Lupa almost fell asleep a few times, her eyes flying open when she was pulled back to the present by another strong, loud knock on the door.

“Since when did you become so popular?” Mahanon asked lightly, stopping her as she stood to go answer the door. “No, I’ll get it. I think I’ve taken enough of your company for the evening.”

“Thank you again, _papae_ ,” Lupa told him lovingly, her new staff still sitting across her lap. “Is it masochistic of me to say that I can’t wait to put it to good use?”

“Not if you’re using it to keep people safe, baby,” he said with a smile from over the edge of her floor, already halfway down the stairs.

Lupa recapped the blade before standing and testing her weight on it. It was strong, steady, soft enough to withstand some force, but sturdy enough to support her.

She heard the door unlatching and swinging open quietly, watching Rom lift his head from the floor by her feet with an inquisitive air as her father’s voice drifted over to them quietly. “Ah, Cullen! Don’t run away, son, I was just leaving! She’s all yours.”

“There’s no need for you to leave just because I’m here, Ser,” Cullen answered as Lupa placed her new staff down on the couch softly and followed Romulus over to the steps. She leaned over her railing to look at them by the door as Rom climbed down the steps to her father’s side.

Lupa saw her father shaking his head, and he looked back up at her over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve told this man to call me by my name, or Father, even _papae_ – anything but ‘Ser.’ Did you have it that bad, too?”

“He does it to everyone, _papae_ ,” she giggled.

“I guess I’ll just have to get over it, then,” her father sighed. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need me, I’ll be on the other side of the Keep, _hopefully_ sleeping peacefully.” Lupa didn’t miss the suggestion in his voice, and laughed warmly again, feeling the heat creeping into her face.

There was no way she was as red as Cullen, though, especially after her father had turned his attention back to the Commander standing in her doorway. “Don’t forget what I told you, son. Seriously, I meant it – especially the windows. Goodnight, kids!”

“Good night!” Lupa managed to call after him when he squeezed past Cullen, Romulus hot on his heels.

Cullen stood frozen in the doorway for another ten seconds or so before shaking his head slowly and stepping into Lupa’s room, closing the door behind him.

Lupa met him at the top of the stairs, and took the opportunity while he was standing below her to kiss him without having to crane her neck so badly. He tried to reach out to her, but his hands were full of a wine bottle and a pair of glasses.

“Oh, are we actually going to drink this one tonight?” she asked brightly, pulling away, and Cullen laughed.

“We’ll see,” was all he said before climbing the last few steps and depositing his burden on the table between the couch and the fire. Once his hands were free, he immediately moved to one of her glass balcony doors and pulled it shut.

“So what was that my father was telling you?” she asked curiously as she watched him, feeling the flames of her desire starting to fan already. _Creators,_ she needed to cool herself off, he had barely even come close to her besides a long, soft, closed kiss. So why was had her stomach dropped expectantly?

“I believe his exact words were, ‘ _Unless you want the entire keep to hear her, close the windows and make sure she has something to chew on_.’ Or something to that effect,” Cullen answered, his voice dropping an octave or two, and Lupa barely managed to supress the shudder that skittered across her spine at the tone of his voice, and the implication. He waited until the last balcony door was closed before turning to look at her again, a sultry smirk tugging at the scar on his lip. “I’ve never like the idea of gagging, though, so I suppose closing the doors and windows will have to be enough.”

She stood there frozen, unable to move either way, her desire burning a pit in her stomach to the point of a total loss of reason. Cullen just chuckled at her, and crossed the room swiftly and surely to pull her close and claim her mouth again.

This kiss was _not_ soft and closed, but hungry and desperate; their lips were crushed together, tongues dancing, teeth clashing, his stubble scratching her chin roughly. They were both breathing furiously, and Lupa was surprised when Cullen let her find the lower hem of his shirt and push her hands underneath so she could get rid of it, desperate to feel some part of his skin besides his hands on her.

He let them break only long enough to reach down and finish removing it for her, yanking it over his head impatiently with one hand just like he had all those months ago in the tavern in Haven during their card game. Lupa trailed her hands along the hard lines of his chest, curling her fingertips enough to scrape not-quite-gentle, not-quite-rough nails across his nipples before finding the ridges of his stomach, running a finger through the coarse line of hair leading from his navel to his waistband.

He growled low in his throat, pressing her closer to him and abandoning her mouth to find the bare spot behind her earlobe. Lupa arched into it, her head tipping sideways and eyes rolling back; his hands traced her sides as he nipped his way down her throat to her collarbone.

They found the lower hem of her shirt just as his lips found the top of the valley between her breasts, and he straightened up again slowly, kissing his way back up, soothing away the stinging pain his teeth had left behind as his hands found her spine under her shirt.

One of his hands reached for between her shoulderblades as he found her mouth with his again, and it pulled the hem of her shirt up enough to expose most of her stomach, but only if she could-

She shifted slightly to allow it before pressing herself against him again. He was so _warm_ , and that strange little line of hair was surprisingly not as rough as she expected.

Lupa surfaced with a gasp only moments later, a little overwhelmed by the sensation after so long without it, and leaned back against his hands to get a look at him. His lips were pink and heavily swollen, his eyes dark and lidded; he was rigid, trying to keep himself under a respectable amount of control, but he looked assertive, commanding, a little possessive, even.

“What happened to ‘give it time?’” she asked, voice throaty.

He just responded by picking her up so she was almost at his height, her feet dangling, and she swung them around his waist to support herself. She could feel the hard line of his desires meeting her own between them and she pulled herself in closer with a hitched breath.

He let out a little groan. “We are giving it time,” he told her, taking one careful step at a time before depositing her softly onto her mattress and crawling under the canopy with her. “But you’ve been gone for too long. Dreaming is better than nothing, but it’s left me craving… realism. And more.”

He pushed a knee between both of hers, and she quickly complied, giving him ample room to do whatever he wanted with her, but he seemed to think only one of his legs between hers was enough; he flattened out over her, the weight of his hips pushing hers into her mattress, and he took his hands out from underneath her to rest his elbows on either side of her shoulders.

Lupa arched underneath him, trying to bring them closer together, to feel the warm skin of his stomach on hers again, but he immediately sat back on his knees, towering over her. She collapsed back down onto the mattress, but she tilted her head back against her pillows, baring her throat as she watched him stare at the lines crossing her stomach, reaching for the dip of her waist with both hands.

They slid up her sides, abruptly stopping on her ribs and gripping her tightly. Lupa could see that he was wracked with indecision, suddenly questioning what he was doing, probably concerned that he was pushing her too far. She wanted to laugh and groan in frustration at the same time.

“You know, the way you go from assertive to frightened is astounding,” she told him instead, and he met her eyes again. “Mythal’s mercy, either get rid of this thing for me, or let me move to do it myself.”

He continued to stare at her for half a minute, the air charged. Lupa could see the fire winning in his eyes, and his hands softened only enough to continue up her sides to the backs of her shoulders, and she leaned forward so he could pull her shirt over her head for her.

It was flung aside carelessly with a low moan as Cullen’s eyes went wide at the sight of her leaning back down lazily, and she arched her upper back in protest when he didn’t immediately touch her again.

“Please tell me you aren’t just going to stare at them all night,” she said to him expectantly, reaching up to trace the lines that swirled and accentuated the soft curve of her breasts. He responded by laying flat on top of her, pinning her hands between them, closing in for another long, hungry kiss.

He surfaced a minute later, and she let her hands fall back to her sides. One of his moved to replace one of hers, and they both moaned softly at the contact. Cullen’s hands easily dwarfed her, but she was far past noticing or caring, arching into his touch again when her slid his palm across to tease her tightened nipple with his thumb, leaning down to scrape at the other with his teeth.

She gave a pathetic whimper and curled her hips in; his leg between hers was giving her just enough pressure, if she could just keep moving-

Lupa grabbed at the hair on the back of Cullen’s head as he suckled and teased her, the other digging into the back of one of his shoulders. She relaxed her hips so she could curl them in again as Cullen took his hands back from her chest, leaving her cold, so he could wind one arm below the curve of her lower spine, the other tangling in her hair fanned out above her head.

They shared another scorching kiss, Lupa still trying with difficulty to move underneath him. She stretched her arms out, managing to find the front of his hips, the bone jutting out and stretching her thumbs awkwardly until she could follow them up to find his waistband.

Cullen sucked in a shocked breath through his nose and instantly sat back, grabbing her wrists gently and putting her hands back on her stomach. He shook his head, his breathing shallow and heavy, and Lupa closed her eyes.

“Not yet,” he spoke softly, his voice still low and throaty. His weight shifted and then disappeared from her mattress, and she opened her eyes to watch him cross the room to find his shirt. “I think we got a bit…carried away.”

“You… you are so _evil_ ,” Lupa complained, and he laughed at her.

“Come drink this wine with me,” he told her.

“No, I think that may be a very _bad_ idea,” she muttered, “especially since you seem to want to draw out the torture for as long as possible.”

“Well, come sit with me, then,” he chuckled as he finally pulled his shirt back over his head.

“I need a minute to just… breathe, and calm down,” she almost pleaded.

Cullen didn’t say anything to that, instead stepping over to the couch and bending to pick up her new staff. “Oh, your father told me he had something for you.” He held it close to his face, examining it closely. “The craftsmanship is nothing like what I’ve seen before. You should come spar with my recruits tomorrow morning, give it a spin and see how it responds,” he offered.

Lupa could finally feel herself relaxing, and it took her a few seconds to work up the energy to answer.

“I have to meet with my training specialists in the morning,” she yawned.

He put down her staff carefully, looking back over to her. “Tired?”

“Mmm,” Lupa answered, her eyelids heavy, and moments later, she was asleep.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa was jarred awake by the breakfast signal ringing through her room.

She blinked a few times, taking in her sensations and surroundings: she was utterly alone, not even Rom in the room with her; she was lying in bed, her blankets warm and soft above her, pulled up to her collar; she was wearing pants, the ankles bunched up around her knees from turning in the night, but she wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She sighed when she realized that she had fallen asleep with Cullen still there, and that he must have tucked her in before leaving. It explained why she was still wearing pants, at least.

Lupa stretched lazily before getting out of bed, immediately padding over to her looking glass.

She smoothed the knots from her hair with a quick snap of her magic, pulling the strands back from her face and neck in a long Orlesian braid starting at the crown of her head. Cullen had left a trail of marks down her neck; instead of healing them, she went to her wardrobe and opted for a tight, high collared shirt to cover all of them but the one behind her earlobe.

She was weaving her way through the breakfast tables with her new staff in hand only ten minutes later, sitting in an empty seat next to Dorian when she didn’t find Cullen.

“Good morning,” Dorian said to her brightly, doing a double take as he pushed a bowl of breakfast pastries towards her. “What’s this?” he asked quietly, hooking a finger behind the shell of Lupa’s ear and pulling it forward so he could look at the little red mark there, before letting her ear go and grabbing the high collar of her shirt, tugging it aside and peering down the side. “Oh-hoh! Good morning, indeed.”

Lupa swatted his hand away, her face flushing. “It may look like it to you, but I swear, his sense of knightly honour is going to be the death of me.”

“You’ll get there, love,” Dorian told her dutifully. “Why didn’t you just heal those away?”

“Didn’t feel like it. This is more fun,” she answered as she tore into a tea biscuit.

“If you say so.”

Lupa finished her breakfast quickly while Dorian fawned over her new staff, stepping outside into the early morning sun after promising him she’d tell him all about her night later.

She still had no idea where Rom was, and she wanted to find him. Thankfully it didn’t take long; she checked in with her Father first, and Romulus was still with him and the Hunters, who were telling him stories of their hunts on the way to Skyhold as he stretched out in front of them.

“Andaran atish’an,” Lupa called in greeting.

Robyn and Ravon stopped speaking to watch her approach, and when she dropped to sit crosslegged across from them, Ravon gave her a subtle sneer and left.

Lupa raised an eyebrow, confused: him and Robyn had always loved to beg her to tell them a story with the little figures she would conjure when they were growing up. His reaction hurt a little.

Robyn sighed sadly. “Ir abelas, lethallin,” she said quietly to Lupa, staring at her hands clasped in front of her. “He does not understand.”

“Just _what_ doesn’t he understand?” Lupa asked.

“One of the People, playing with a shem?” Robyn continued, a little of her own negativity surfacing in her tone. “It is seen as one of the ultimate betrayals, lethallin, you know this.”

“That’s none of his business,” Lupa warned sharply.

“I know, but that does not mean we do not care.” Robyn looked up at Lupa finally, her eyes sad. “Would you care to explain to me? I know it does not directly affect me, but I admit to being curious about what made a proper Dalish lady like yourself turn against us.”

“I have turned against no one,” Lupa shot back. “What do you want to hear? That I was curious? That it’s a simple matter of sating needs and nothing more? You know that’s not who I am.”

Lupa paused to breathe, to let Robyn speak, but the other elf simply continued to watch her, so she continued. “The Commander is an honest, kind, strong, and capable man who is trying to move on from the dark years of his past.”

“Can he, though?” Robyn asked quietly. “Knight-Captain of Kirkwall… you _do_ know what they did to their mages there?”

“I am well aware,” Lupa warned. “How many people have dutifully followed bad orders from superiors they trusted and lived to regret it? This is no different. It’s unbecoming of you to judge a person before learning who they are.”

“Tell me, then,” Robyn challenged. “Who is he?”

Lupa sighed. How could she possibly summarize who he was?

She thought back over the months since they had first met under that Rift by the Temple: the way he had stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her, flustering when she flirted a little; snapping at her for associating him with the Templars at first, then slowly thawing to her acknowledgement; the way he praised her magic, despite his tortured past; the way he always stood to protect her, even when she wasn’t immediately aware of it, like when he threw out recruits who couldn’t accept her being an elf; curling up in his arms as he scooped her out of the snow after their flight from Haven, holding her tightly and securely, promising that he wouldn’t let anything else happen to her so strongly and confidently, her breath still hitched when she remembered it; convincing him that he was stronger than his withdrawal, watching the way his anger dissolved when she told him he _could_.

Lupa sighed again. “I couldn’t tell you who he is if I tried. There’s too much to say, and no proper words to say it.”

Robyn nodded. “You truly do care, then.”

“Truly,” Lupa told her firmly.

“I cannot say that I or the rest of the Clan will be happy to hear it, but… I can be happy for _you_ ,” Robyn told her softly with a small smile. “It is good for you to have found someone, even if he is… disagreeable to the People.”

“Ma serannas. I think,” Lupa murmured as she stood. “I’d come by looking to find Rom, and now that I know where he is, I’ll leave you to go back to your storytelling.”

“Lupa?” Robyn called out when Lupa had taken a few steps away. She waited for Lupa to turn around again before she continued. “It is good to see you again.”

Lupa smiled. “It’s good to see you, too,” she called back before continuing on her way to Cullen’s office.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen had woken early from a confusing, murky dream involving dizzying swirls of copper-gold, and decided to get to work early.

The top report on his desk had come from Leliana, and upon reading it, he had dived into making arrangements for his temporary departure.

If people were returning to Honnleath finally, then he would personally be present to make sure all was well and safe for them.

He worked feverishly right through breakfast, calling his captains and lieutenants together to go over plans and get things prepared for the trip. He was hoping to leave in the next day or two, and take Lupa along with him.

Officially, he wanted her there with him to help make the Inquisition appear more invested in the villagers who would be moving back in, and because they would be powerless if there were any Rifts in the area without her.

Unofficially, of course, he just wanted to get her alone and show her a little piece of his past that was happy instead of harmful.

He had no idea what time it was, but he was about to go hunt her down when she stepped into his office. He noted the stiff, high collar of her shirt, and wondered if he had left marks on her skin, equal parts ashamed and thrilled by the idea.

“There you are!” he exclaimed.

“Says the one who skipped breakfast.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” he stated immediately. “I mean, no-”

Her expression changed to mildly amused, one eyebrow dipping back down again as the other raised higher. “Oh, good. I’ve kept and _not_ kept you waiting,” she said to him teasingly. “I can come back later, if you’d prefer.”

“No!” he exclaimed a little more strongly than he needed to. “Please stay.”

Lupa relaxed into a sly grin and a giggle, and he cleared his throat before continuing.

“I found out this morning that I have some dealings in Ferelden. I was… hoping you’d be able to accompany me. When you have the time, of course,” he added hastily. He was suddenly nervous, butterflies erupting uncomfortably in his stomach; what if she rejected the idea? Or told him she needed him to stay here?

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned.

“What?” he asked, unsure of why she would think anything was _wrong._ “No… I would rather explain there – that is, if you wish to come along.”

Cullen saw her nod, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Can it wait until tomorrow morning, though?” she asked. “I’m busy for the rest of the morning today, and then we have the War Council this afternoon…”

“I hadn’t planned to leave until the morning anyway,” he told her with a wide smile.

“Perfect,” she replied, reaching up to scratch behind her ear and planting her new staff with a soft _clack_ on his floor, leaning on it subtly. “I don’t have long; I need to go meet those specialists Josie called in for me. I just wanted to come by and apologize for falling asleep on you last night. And thank you for putting me to bed.”

He laughed, remembering how she had mumbled some incoherent answer to a question he asked her before letting out a soft snore and twisting onto her side. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you there like that,” he told her.

“It still requires a thank you,” she told him firmly.

“You’re welcome, then.”

Lupa smiled at him again. “I’ll see you at lunch, or the War Council. Later, anyway.”

“I look forward to it,” he answered, watching her leave his office.

Cullen smiled, and dove back into his work.

She had given him many things to look forward to, but he thought this one might just be the best one yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another drabble. Things got a bit out of hand here. 
> 
> All I wanted to do was send them to Honnleath, I swear! They just won't keep their hands to themselves any longer.


	28. Given New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, some jealousy, and a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT NOTES (April 15/15): a few small changes made regarding details found in previews of the Word of Thedas: Volume 2, where more background info on Cullen is found. 
> 
> I won't be able to fix everything accurately until it comes out, but it's a start.

Lupa was the last to join them in the War Room after lunch.

Her aura filled the room, her softly untamed signature comforting. Cullen didn’t need to turn around to know that the elfroot plants in the windows would be wildly overgrown already.

He wondered if she was okay; usually when they were on business like this, she kept her aura tightly fastened, pulled in close to herself.

“Inquisitor,” he nodded to her respectfully. “We were-”

“Eagerly awaiting your presence,” Leliana cut him off, and he turned to give her a severe look when she continued. “Some of us more than others.”

“I wasn’t – I mean, I was-” He didn’t know what to say; he wanted to deny it for the sake of those present, but it was the truth. He let out a short breath. “We have work to do.”

“Of course,” Leliana agreed placatingly.

Lupa giggled and watched him until Josephine started with her first report.

The Ambassador was just finishing up on her preparations for Halamshiral about half an hour later, when Cullen shivered lightly.

He had seen Lupa move out of the corner of his eye, and then he could feel long, slender fingers threading through his hair at his temple. It felt just like hers, but when he turned to glance at her, she was still on the other side of the wide table, looking at Romulus while she listened to Josephine.

He felt it a few more times over the course of the next few hours, once even pulling at the back of his head gently, another time lightly grabbing at the shell of one of his ears, prompting Leliana to ask him if he was okay when he took in a sharp breath in shock.

“I’m fine,” he tried to assure her, but he didn’t think she bought it.

“What do you have for us, Commander?” Lupa had her hand resting between Romulus’ shoulderblades, and Cullen could feel a touch between his, too-

_Maker… Who’s the evil one now?_

She had a perfectly controlled and neutral expression on her face as she waited for him to answer her, and he launched into his reports with as much control as he could muster while she gently massaged the back of his neck for him from across the table.

What a weird thing to try to wrap his head around.

He left his report on the Honnleath villagers to last, sharing only the most basic details.

“May I ask why this task requires both you _and_ the Inquisitor?” Josephine asked kindly. “She has much preparation to make for the ball.”

“We have no information about the state of the area as of yet,” Cullen explained. “If there are Rifts in the area, we’ll need you,” he nodded to Lupa across the table, and she moved a hand back between his shoulders again, “in order to close them and make the place inhabitable. As for my presence…”

“Yours is understandable, Commander,” Leliana chimed in softly.

Lupa was looking at the map, and took her hand from Romulus’ back to trace a long line with the tip of her finger along a roadway drawn there; Cullen shivered violently when he felt it poke him in the middle of his chest and travel down to just past his waistband before lifting. There was heat rising to his face, and his heart was pounding. He tried to throw her a subtle look of warning, but she was still looking at the map. “I think if we go mounted, we could get there in about two easy days on the road. With a company the size you’re proposing, it might take three hard days instead.”

“We wouldn’t be there more than… two or three days before the Inquisitor and I turn back,” he told them, struggling to get himself back under control. “Our soldiers may stay for longer. I won’t know until we get there and… I can assess the needs of the people.”

“I suppose that still gives me about two weeks to work with you when you return, Inquisitor,” Josephine suggested, and Lupa nodded.

“You’ll be able to take most of my time when we get back, anyway. We’ll be fine,” Lupa told her.

“Good.” Josephine leaned over to collect her papers, and Cullen sighed in relief as he watched Lupa reach for her water goblet. “Are we done here?”

Cullen let out a strangled surprised yelp when he felt a hand close over one of his buttocks sharply.

“I think the Commander is, anyway,” Leliana said with a raised brow.

Lupa was watching him carefully. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

“I am fine,” he bit out, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

Josephine and Leliana were already halfway to the door. “We shall see you when you return,” the Ambassador called back over her shoulder.

“Enjoy your trip,” added the Spymaster, her voice dripping with scandal, their musical giggles bouncing off the stone walls as they pulled the door open and left.

Romulus bounded over and slipped through before it closed behind them, leaving him alone with Lupa, who was crossing the room, too.

His heavy boots didn’t allow him to be stealthy, and he had to jog to catch up to her; she was about a foot away from the door when she stopped, turning to look at him, and he backed her up, shoving her a little roughly against it.

It wasn’t quite latched, and it snapped closed loudly, Lupa’s body hitting it with a heavy _thud_. Cullen was sure Josephine, at least, would have heard it.

He had his hands on either side of her head, using the weight of his body to hold her in place.

“Is something the matter?”Lupa asked innocently.

He wanted to be frustrated by what she had done, but he was smirking dangerously at her instead, and her eyes went lidded.

“You think you’ve won this, don’t you?” he asked her, voice low. “I suppose this was payback for last night?”

“If that’s what you want to think it was,” she answered mischievously.

He bent down and placed a single, mouthy kiss under the corner of her jaw, feeling the way her chest expanded as she took in a heavy breath. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and dragged them down her front to the dip in her waist; she arched against him, but he let her go and reached for the door’s handle again.

“This isn’t over,” he told her hoarsely before striding out of the room.

She wasn’t immediately behind him; he turned to check before opening the door back into Josephine’s office. When he threw that door open, he saw Leliana sitting across from Josephine at her desk.

“Well, that was fast,” Leliana commented casually.

Cullen stopped dead. “I’m sorry?”

“You did put everything back where it belonged on the Table when you were done, I hope?” she continued, and Josephine snorted, unable to contain her mirth.

“We did not-”

“Do _anything_ ,” Lupa finished casually from behind him. “Honestly, his mother should have named him _Chivalry_ ,” she commented lightly as she strode through the office without even looking at them, closing the door to the main hall with a quiet _click_ behind her as she passed through.

Leliana was laughing openly, but not unkindly. Cullen was red, definitely embarrassed, but of all the people she could have done something like that in front of, he was grateful it was these two. At least _they_ were his friends.

“Ooh, sounds like someone has a few things she needs, Cullen. I certainly hope this trip will be good for both of you,” was all Leliana said before dissolving into another giggling fit.

“Maker, you two…” He sighed aggressively.

Josephine got up from her chair and came to stand in front of him, patting down the fur on his mantle and gently pushing back a curl that had fallen loose at his temple. “Cullen, as much as we tease, you know we’re happy for the two of you, right?”

Cullen sighed again, but this time it was resigned. “Thank you,” was all he said.

“But I _am_ serious, Cullen,” Leliana told him from her chair. “The last thing we need is a hysterical Inquisitor. Do us _all_ a favour and help her out. She seems a bit… tightly wound.”

He shook his head as he crossed the office and exited to the main hall, their chiming laughter following him.

Oh, he was sure this trip would be good for at her; if the way his imagination was acting up was any indication, it would be a _very_ good trip for her, indeed. He felt himself smirking dangerously again as he crossed through Solas’ solar to get to his office.

He would settle this little game they were playing with a swift and aggressive assault.

He didn’t think she would complain.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Since Cullen and Lupa were the only ones travelling on horseback, they opted to ride ahead of the main party instead of staying with them, to assess the area before the soldiers arrived.

The soldiers were convinced that their Commander just wanted to get her alone for a while, and they weren’t exactly wrong.

“So why are you tagging along for this one?” Lupa asked him in front of their fire their first night on the road. The sun was just starting to fall to the western horizon, throwing gold and rosy pink lights across the sky. It reminded Cullen of the flush of her skin against her tattoos.

“I grew up in Honnleath,” he told her simply. He wanted to wait until they got there before he shared anything more.

“Oh,” she answered, surprised. They fell silent for another couple of minutes, but it was comfortable; Lupa was nestled into his side, her ear against his chest, and Romulus was laying at their feet, his sense of contentment lending itself to them, as well.

He felt Lupa turn her chin up to look at him, the end of her ear catching the soft fabric of his shirt for a moment, and he pulled it tight and away again gently with a chuckle. “Thanks,” she giggled, a little embarrassed. “You said the village was healing after the Blight?”

He nodded, staring back into the fire. “Honnleath wasn’t the only one,” he finally told her quietly. “Lothering got the worst, I think. You know of Ostagar?” He felt her nod before he continued. “Well, the darkspawn went directly north, first; Lothering was completely overrun. That’s where Hawke and her family were from, and they barely managed to escape from both places. Most weren’t so lucky. But the darkspawn spread east and west from there, so most people in Honnleath had a bit of warning, and knew to travel north.”

“The Hero went to Lothering to try to warn them, didn’t she?”

Cullen nodded again. “There was nothing they could do for them, though.”

They fell quiet for another minute before Lupa asked another question of him. “She didn’t go to Honnleath?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Did that make you angry?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I got a letter from my sister after they were overrun. My parents... they didn't make it." Cullen stopped and took a deep breath. "My siblings all made it out, and thankfully, by the time they made it to Redcliffe, the Hero had sorted everything out there. When the Archdemon was slain, they moved east, to South Reach.”

"I'm sorry," she offered, and he nodded against the top of her head. He wasn't the only one to lose family; he was lucky to have kept as many of them as he did.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she prodded softly after a few seconds.

“I… was angry, for a short time,” he admitted. “Of course, I didn’t actually _see_ that letter or find out about the village being attacked until after the Hero liberated the Circle, and I was already in… a bit of a state.” He took a long sigh. “But I don’t think she knew about it. She was trying to build her army to fight the darkspawn, and she needed to do it as quickly as possible, or all of Ferelden would have been overrun, instead of just a few villages in the south. So I was angry at first, but then I understood. I still wish she had been able to help, but I’m grateful they at least had some warning.”

He felt Lupa nodding against his chest. “I’m excited to see it, even though it’s probably going to be in a bit of a sorry state.”

“They’ll rebuild,” he told her confidently. “Us Fereldans are a hardy sort.”

“I’ve noticed,” she giggled, shivering a little and tucking herself more tightly into his side. “The whole concept of having a home is still so new to me,” she admitted then, and Cullen looked down at the top of her head. “The Dalish, we consider wherever we are to be home, but… nothing is ever permanent enough. Haven was the first real place that I could call home. I love Skyhold, but I miss Haven. Maybe one day when this is all over, I can move into a little village, build a small garden, and a family, maybe tell tall tales in a tavern for some coin. If life will ever be simple again, that is.”

Cullen noticed that she hadn’t mentioned him, and it stung a little; did she not see him in her future?

Was he ready to admit to both himself, and her, that he saw her in his? Perhaps it was just too soon. She _had_ just mentioned ‘family’ casually, and he let that soothe him.

“I hope you can,” he told her softly. “That any of us can.”

They fell silent again, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and Rom’s gentle snoring. The sky was beginning to darken finally, and Cullen sighed, standing up to put up their tents.

Lupa got up after him and grabbed her staff, her aura stretching and pulling as she set up wards around their camp.

“Be careful,” she told him. He could feel the wards all around them; they were strong and dangerous. “They’ll keep people out, but that means that if you leave, you won’t be able to get back in without me.”

She finished just as he started to unwrap her tent. “You’re not planning on sleeping in a tent that size all by yourself?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, a little confused.

“You’ll freeze!” she admonished him, shocked.

Was she implying that they should _share?_ “Lupa, I’m not exactly a restful sleeper. There may be screaming involved.”

“And it’ll wake me up anyway, so I may as well be there to help wake _you_ if you can’t climb out on your own.” Still he hesitated, and she leaned on her staff, cocking her hip out to the side and putting her free hand on it. He almost laughed; she looked like a bizarre cross between Dorian and Vivienne. “I’m not suggesting we share a bedroll, though I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. I’m just saying that the extra heat from me and my giant living footwarmer might be a bit healthier than freezing all night and getting sick.”

He stared at her for about a minute, but she made a fair point. He nodded, straightening up and starting to rewrap her tent, when he felt her aura stretching again, and it would itself up tightly in his hands.

She reached out and took it from him, holding it close to her chest and stretching up to the tips of her toes to give him a gentle kiss before retrieving her pack and disappearing into the tent with a quiet goodnight.

Romulus got up to follow her when Cullen reached the fire. He waited only long enough to scatter the coals before joining them, pushing aside the tent flap and dragging his armour inside.

Lupa was laying on her back, her copper-gold hair spread out in a fan above her head on the pillow, one arm stretched out to the side, the other bent with her palm splayed on Rom’s head, which was resting across her stomach. Cullen could just barely see the shoulders of her sleeveless undershirt in the dark tent, pale white against the dark bedroll. She was breathing softly, her mouth open just a tiny bit, and she twitched, her head turning to the side. It made him wonder what she was dreaming about.

Cullen turned away and pulled off his shirts, digging into his pack to replace his leather pants with softer cotton for sleeping. When he was done changing, he slipped into his own roll, laying on his back and taking a deep breath.

He saw Romulus lift his head out of the corner of his eye, and it caused Lupa to stir; she rolled over onto her side to face Cullen with a sigh, and he reached over to brush away the chunk of hair that fell over her face when she turned.

Cullen wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. He seemed to float along uninterrupted for a while, and just when he began to feel the Fade stirring up a dream for him, he was jerked awake by a cold hand finding the top of his stomach, just under his chest.

He looked at Lupa sleepily; his arm was thrown out straight to his side, and her head had come to rest on his bicep. She must have rolled over again and reached out to him in her sleep.

He gave up trying to be a gentleman about the whole situation, curling his arm around her and drawing her in closer. She complied, but didn’t quite wake up as she settled into the hollow of his neck, her arm sliding around his ribs and a leg falling between his softly, her ankle between his knees. He took a deep breath, resting his cheek on the top of her head, and fell asleep again with her scent all around him.

He was woken one more time in the middle of the night, this time by Romulus biting his ear softly just as he was about to be dragged into another nightmare; there was a confusing jumble of sensations from the wolf that he wasn’t awake enough to understand, so Cullen just thanked him quietly and fell asleep again.

Despite all the interruptions, his sleep was far more restful than it had been in a long time, and he woke slowly, leaving his eyes closed for a while as he continued to hold Lupa close. Neither had stirred again, and she was still draped across him, her head tucked under his chin.

The tent was still dark, but the first touches of dawn were filtering through the heavy fabric when they were jarred by a loud explosion and an animalistic scream of pain, both sounds cutting short abruptly.

Cullen’s eyes flew open, and Lupa jerked awake, instantly sitting up on an elbow and watching the tent flap, her aura stretching to fill the small space. She started to relax a moment later, and laid back down on his chest with a yawn. The end of her ear tickled under his chin, and he shifted just enough to avoid the contact.

“Good morning,” he offered her, and she looked up with a warm smile.

“Decided to hang your honour in the closet for the night?” she teased him.

“Actually, it was _you_ who rolled over onto _me_ ,” he told her.

“I’m not apologizing.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he chuckled, bending to give her a quick kiss before she extricated herself from him, shuddering as she stretched and groaned, reaching for an overshirt.

They emerged only minutes later to find a deer sprawled at the edge of their camp, killed by the force of Lupa’s wards. She offered it to Rom, and the wolf dug in messily while they nibbled on stale bread and a bit of cheese.

They were on the road an hour later, and he listened contentedly as she told him about her wanderings during the night and the old barbarian battles she had witnessed. There was a comforting inner peace in Cullen today, and when she asked him around midday what he was smiling at, he simply pulled Mia closer so he could lean over and give her another soft kiss.

 

*                             *                             *

 

They arrived in Honnleath just before dinner.

Lupa could see the village in the distance; it seemed that Cullen stopped them just on the edge of an old farm, and he hopped down from Mia’s back to examine the earth.

It was mostly dark, but there were strands of grass starting to push up sparsely. Lupa let her aura stretch thin, covering a wide swath of land as she tried to get a reading from the soil.

“Still tainted, but healing quickly,” she murmured, and Cullen nodded as he walked back to his horse.

They continued in silence on to the main town. There was a fair bit of commotion; there were a good number of people hauling lumber, and it seemed every able hand was working on restoring one building or another. Since most, if not all, of the housings were unsafe to live in, there was a sea of tents just outside the boundaries of the village, where the mothers and children were working and playing, respectively.

Many eyes watched them approach the town, and Lupa could feel them burning into her as Cullen led them through the main road toward the village. They were about halfway there when a middle-aged man stopped in the middle of the road in front of them.

“Welcome,” the man said cautiously, eyeing Romulus. His voice sounded surprisingly similar to Cullen’s, a little softer around the edges than her Commander’s. “I must admit to finding it strange that peoples of statures such as yours would come to this place.”

Lupa watched Cullen’s eyes go a little wide with recognition, and he dismounted next to her. “Matthias?”

“That… is my name, yes,” the man answered uneasily. “And who would you be, that you know me already?”

“Cullen?” A young woman’s disbelieving voice drifted over from behind them, and Lupa turned to try to find the source of it. “Cullen, is that _you_?”

A woman in her mid-twenties was stepping out of the crowd of women and children that had amassed behind them: she was just a bit taller than Lupa would be, her hair a nondescript brown, cut off at her shoulders, her face round and lips a little thin, with a slightly upturned nose. Her body was soft, her curves a little on the generous side.

“Abigail!” Cullen smiled, and she ran up to him to give him a warm embrace.

“Maker, Cullen, we all thought you died in the Circle,” she gushed, and Cullen let her go, but she didn’t put much room between them. Lupa felt a small stirring of territorialism, her hand tightening on her staff in her lap, and tried to squash it, knowing her reaction was ridiculous. “And then we heard about Kirkwall, and we were sure you died there – Mia was beside herself when we got word of the Inquisition and she hadn’t heard from you directly that you had been given your position there.”

“Of course she was,” Cullen muttered, and this Abigail woman giggled musically. “I’m terrible at writing. The next time I see her, she’s going to kill me for it. Have any of them come back yet?”

“No, they’ve done quite well for themselves in South Reach. I don’t think they’re considering it,” Abigail told him.

“Cullen Rutherford?” Matthias finally asked, a wide smile stretching across his face. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you,” Cullen laughed, and Lupa smiled to see him so relaxed and happy here. “Oh, forgive me-”

Lupa was still on Ellana’s back, and he stepped past Abigail to reach out a hand to Lupa to help her dismount. She slid down with ease, placing her staff on her back, and she met Cullen’s bright eyes as Romulus came to stand next to her.

He gestured first to the middle-aged man. “This is Matthias, son of Wilhelm-”

“King Maric’s magical advisor?” Lupa asked immediately, cutting him off.

“The very same,” Matthias answered for her with a smile and a respectful nod.

“And this,” Cullen gestured to the woman she was beginning to _very_ much dislike, thanks to the look she was giving _her_ lover, “is Abigail, and old childhood friend of my sister Rosalie's, and the Rutherford family.”

“Aneth ara,” Lupa offered, controlled despite the unusual surge of possessiveness that was claiming her. “I am honoured.”

Cullen turned to her with a warm smile, watching her proudly as he continued. “Allow me to introduce to you Inquisitor Lupa ‘Capitoline’ Lavellan, and her companion, Romulus.”

“Inquisitor?” Matthias asked immediately, clearly awed. “You brought the Inquisitor here?”

“Technically I’m here on Inquisition business,” Cullen told the man. “We didn’t know if there were any Rifts in the area, so I asked her to join me in case she needed to close one.”

Matthias shifted his stance, and Lupa recognized the movement; she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder swiftly. “Please, don’t kneel.”

“As you say, Your Worship,” he answered, bowing deeply instead. “The honour is all mine. As the one instated by the people as Mayor of Honnleath, I welcome you to our humble town.”

“It is an honour, indeed, Inquisitor,” Abigail invoked, but the words were a little insincere.

“I’ve dispatched a small group of fifty soldiers to help you with whatever you need,” Cullen told Matthias. “The Inquisitor and I rode ahead of the main group; they should be here some time tomorrow.”

“Soldiers have better uses than helping simple villagers building houses,” Matthias told him, but he sounded relieved.

“Their use is to help the people of Thedas, and that’s exactly what they’ll be doing.”

“Thank you,” Matthias said quietly. “Please, feel free to go about and work as you need. No one has seen to your family’s old farmhouse yet, though, Cullen, so if you’re going there, be careful.”

“We will,” Cullen promised before turning to remove his horse’s saddle and tack.

“So how have you been, Cullen?” Abigail asked casually as he worked. Lupa bent to check Rom’s paws for him to hide her aggravation.

“Very busy with work,” he told her. “Being the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces isn’t exactly an easy job.”

“Perhaps you should have someone helping you,” Abigail suggested tersely.

“I have twenty Captains and fifty Lieutenants who do a good amount of the field work for me,” he cleared up for her. “Trust me, I’m very good at delegating work. And just because it isn’t easy, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.” Lupa stood up straight and began to stroke Ellana’s flank softly.

“Don’t you ever get any time to relax?” The question was pointed, perhaps a challenge toward Lupa. She didn’t respond, and it seemed Cullen took it personally, too.

His response was a little clipped. “I get enough,” was all he said. He finally finished untacking his horse. “Is there anywhere we can stable our mounts?”

“Nothing safe enough at the moment,” Abigail sighed dramatically. “I could take your things for you, if you’d like. I’ve got plenty of space right now.”

“No, we’ll be okay. They should be fine to graze, and I think we’ll be setting up a private camp,” he said quietly. Lupa didn’t miss his subtle warning, and less than subtle rejection.

She let her aura go just enough to envelop their mounts, and both Mia and Ellana looked at her pointedly. She warned them to be careful grazing, and sent them on their way.

Romulus offered to carry Mia’s saddle and tack for them, so Cullen rested it on his back and grabbed Lupa’s small pack, throwing his own over one shoulder and hers over the other. Lupa took her staff from her back again and leaned on it subtly; she really liked having a walking stick.

Cullen placed a soft hand in the middle of her back, high enough not to be truly intimate, but low enough to suggest it. “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He looked back at Abigail, his expression entirely neutral. “It was good to see you again, Abby.”

Lupa smiled at him, and they continued up the road without another glance back at the pouting Abigail.  She could feel the woman’s eyes burning into Cullen’s hand on her back, and she chuckled a little unkindly.

“What?” Cullen asked.

“I don’t think I like Abigail much,” Lupa admitted.

“How come?”

“Did you not hear the way she was speaking to you? See the way she was looking at you?”

His eyebrows shot up, and he smirked at her. “A little jealous, are we?”

Lupa sighed. “Territorial, more like,” she grumbled.

He laughed openly, and Lupa pursed her lips sheepishly, her cheeks colouring red.

“I have to admit, it was a little uncomfortable,” Cullen told her quietly. “I’m sure I heard she was married, too. What a strange situation.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just holding out for a fair village maiden?” she asked, actually a little serious. “Seems you could just take your pick here, if she’s any indication. Maybe you'd get a bit more respect with a human girl on your arm, too.” Her father had told her about the soldier in the tavern on his first day there, and the words that he had told her still stung.

Cullen stopped and looked down at her, a little crease of concern forming between his eyebrows. “You aren’t actually worried, are you?”

Lupa just sighed and stared at her feet. Cullen took his hand from her back for a moment, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her face back up to look at him. “If I wanted a _fair village maiden_ that’s no good for anything other than sewing and _maybe_ having children without dying, I wouldn’t have wasted my time on a strong, intelligent woman who’s capable of defending herself and her loved ones, among all of the other things wives are expected to do.” His eyes were warm, and Lupa felt herself flushing in embarrassment at her poor behaviour. Her eyes went wide when he let her chin go and bent down, murmuring in her ear, his voice a low growl. “Maybe later I can prove it to you.”

Her heart started to race, but Cullen straightened up again and replaced his hand on her back, steering her into the village as if nothing had just happened.

Lupa followed along dutifully, listening intently as he talked, wishing more than anything that they could find their secluded camp so she could learn exactly how he planned to prove his loyalty to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is stretching out farther than I expected, but I think it works, and it's important, and I want it to be perfect. So that just means more Honnleath to come! 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me this far. Seriously, this has ended up being a way bigger project than I originally anticipated. Feedback is always welcome! Don't be shy if you have something you want to say, whether it be good, bad, or ugly - I want to hear it.


	29. Cry Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so, NSFW...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT NOTES (April 15/15): a few small changes made regarding details found in previews of the Word of Thedas: Volume 2, where more background info on Cullen is found. 
> 
> I won't be able to fix everything accurately until it comes out, but it's a start.

“Cullen, wait-”

He pushed the barn door open anyway, and Lupa sucked in a petrified breath, waiting for the whole structure to collapse on top of him. When it didn’t, he turned around and smirked at her.

“You were saying?”

She let her held breath escape her in a short rush, and Romulus laughed beside her.

“Let me just try something before we go in,” she told him, closing her eyes and letting her aura expand. If it could grow things out of nothing, maybe it could restore the dead wood long enough for them to explore.

Everything in the town was, of course, built with wood. If there were three things she had learned about Fereldans since coming to the Conclave, it was that they loved dogs, wood cabins, and snowstorms.

Lupa could appreciate the first two, but she would never get used to the cold.

She opened her eyes when Rom gave a little yelp of surprise, followed by a gasp from Cullen. She could feel the wood thrumming, almost singing as it came alive, twisting and weaving to strengthen the structure. The earth was rumbling lightly beneath her feet as the support columns put down roots, growing branches and leaves that stretched toward the unrepaired holes in the roof, searching for sunlight.

Cullen turned to look at her with wide eyes, and she felt heat creeping into her face. “I have no idea,” she told him, answering the question he seemed too shocked to ask. “Maybe having my staff on me magnifies the effect?”

“Whatever happened, it’s _incredible_ ,” he murmured, awed. “I’ve never – I didn’t know magic could even _do_ this.”

“That makes two of us,” Lupa admitted. “It doesn’t… make you uncomfortable, does it?”

“Maker’s breath, no,” he told her immediately with a laugh and bright, excited eyes. “You just rebuilt a rotting barn into a _living structure_ with next to no effort. It’s gorgeous!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _no_ effort...” She leaned on her staff a little more strongly, her head feeling a little heavy and her stomach growling.

“Oh, here-” Cullen immediately dropped their packs and started rummaging through his, pulling out a small pear. It was a little bruised, but it was better than nothing, and Lupa tore into it with a quiet murmur of thanks.

They found nothing special in the barn; anything that may have been there when the darkspawn came was long gone by now. They stayed only for a few moments before retrieving their effects and moving on to the main homestead.

Lupa let her aura expand again as they drew near, and this time they had to brace themselves when the ground beneath them began to quake with the force of her magic.

The outer wall of the house was constructed entirely of great vertical logs, and any gaps that may have come up between the wood closed in as the trees came back to life, setting down their roots and growing their bark back. Branches stretched, twisting and weaving together just like in the barn, to create a waterproof, leafy canopy, replacing the ruined roof, growing and replacing the rotting window frames around the weathered glass panes. The front door was gone, and it was replaced instead with a fringe of dry, leafy vines with tiny little blue and purple flowers.

When it was done, Lupa sagged; she didn’t know where this sudden surge of magic came from, but she was exhausted from the exertion, even though she hadn’t actually had to do anything. Was this what Dorian felt like when he was using his necromancy?

Cullen caught her around the waist, and Rom leaned on her other side, pushing his nose under her elbow to help her walk, and they stepped into the house. Cullen let her go long enough to drop their packs again, handing her a piece of stale bread before taking his horse’s equipment off of Rom’s back.

Everything in the house had been exposed to the elements for too long to be functional, but the wood floors had refinished, their boards fitting snug and perfectly flat, polished to shining all through the first floor and on the stairs leading to the second floor. There were networks of thick branches supporting the second floor along the roof above them, growing outwards from the support columns.

“Maker…” Cullen climbed the stairs in front of them, and Lupa followed after a few seconds, her staff hitting the wood with a soft _thud_ every time she set it down.

When she reached the top of the steps, she saw him standing in the doorway to a small bedroom; it was one of four that the upper floor housed. “This was my room,” Cullen told her. There was still a dilapidated, ruined bed in one corner, and a rotting desk on the opposite wall. The earthy smell coming from it was comforting for Lupa; she missed the smells of the forest. “I think they used it as a guest room after I left, if anyone came by to visit.”

Cullen turned around again, and brushed past her to the room across the hall. “And this was my brother Branson's.” He stared in for a few seconds before turning to look at her with a small, contented smile. “We used to share, until my parents found us up well past bedtime a few times too many,” he chuckled.

“What would you do?”

“Well, we played chess a lot,” he answered. She remembered that; he had mentioned it the one time they had played together. “Sometimes I would read to him and we would get carried away by the story. Or we would just… talk. We aren't too far apart in age, so he would ask me all the questions our parents wouldn’t answer for him – he was never comfortable asking Mia about things, and Rosie was the baby of the family, so he would come to me instead.”

He moved up the hall, gesturing to the room next to his brother’s. “This was my parents’. The biggest one, naturally, though not by much. And my sisters shared across from them.” He heaved a contented sigh, turning slowly to come and stand in front of Lupa again. “I missed this so much during my Templar training. I never thought I’d see it again.”

“I’m sorry I managed to change it so much,” Lupa told him.

One of his hands found the side of her face, and she leaned into his wide palm lazily. “Don’t be. Now it includes you. I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Lupa’s face started to warm again, and her heart swelled at the tone of his voice: so gentle, like a soft lover’s caress, and she turned to place a kiss in the centre of his palm.

Cullen took his hand back, reaching into a pocket he had tucked away somewhere in his chest armour, and when it emerged, he was holding a small coin purse. “Let me just change into something a little less bulky, and then I’ll go see if I can buy something from the villagers that’s a bit more satisfying than old bread for us.”

Lupa nodded and turned around to climb down the stairs again. “Maybe I’ll take a short nap while you’re gone.”

“That’s a good idea,” Cullen agreed. “Did you bring any lyrium potions? Maybe you should take one. You feel drained.”

Lupa shook her head. “I didn’t think I’d need any. A nap should work just as well, anyway.”

“I hope so,” he told her, his brows coming together in concern. “I shouldn’t be long. We can eat, and then there’s one more thing I wanted to show you.”

“I can’t wait,” she told him with a small smile, grabbing her pack and dragging it into what looked like the old family room.

Romulus followed her quietly, his nails _clacking_ on the hard wooden floor, and she unrolled her blanket to the sounds of armour being removed in the kitchen.

She had settled in next to Rom by the time he was finished, and he emerged in what looked like his underarmour: two tunics, a simple white cotton under a brown leather, and his usual leather breeches and boots. His sword was still strapped to his belt, but it looked like he would be leaving his shield behind for his trip into town.

“I won’t be far if you need me for anything,” he told them from the front doorway and then he slipped out past the canopy of vines, leaving them alone with the sounds of creaking trees.

Romulus promised to stay awake in case anything happened and Lupa thanked him, drifting into sleep despite the hard floor, happier than she had been in longer than she could truly remember.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen spent longer with the villagers than he expected, but he learned quite a bit from them about how the rebuilding efforts were progressing, gaining a good idea how best to instruct his men when they arrived.

Abigail had flagged him down and almost begged him to join her, batting her lashes at him, and he put his foot down.

“Abigail,” he told her tensely, and she stood very still, perhaps expecting him to… what, profess his undying love for her? As if. “I haven’t seen you in almost twenty years. You don’t honestly think you still know me? No, I will not be joining you. Now, or ever. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my Inquisitor before she starts to worry and buries us in a storm of crows, or something.”

“ _Your_ Inquisitor, is she?” Abigail sneered before he could turn away. “Of course you’d end up with some freaky looking knife-ear mage. I never knew you would make such a terrible Templar.”

Cullen gripped the pommel of his sword tightly, and he saw her eyes go wide with fear at the gesture. He would never draw it on her; the reaction had been instinct to him. He took a deep, steadying breath to quell the rage that had built in his chest and took his hand from his sword, crossing his arms instead, the bag of goods he had been given by the townsfowk swinging from his other hand. “She is an _elf,_ not a ‘knife-ear,’ and she is the _Inquisitor_. You _will_ treat her with respect. She holds the power of royalty. And _I_ am no longer a Templar. You would do well to remember that.”

This time he was able to leave before she could antagonize him again, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Not quite the same since ‘er ‘usband died,” said a man a few tents away, and Cullen turned to look at him. “An’ let’s face it, yours is a pretty face te look at. She may not like it, but she’ll respect it.”

“I’m not used to the attention,” Cullen admitted as he shook his head slowly.

“Then get used te it!” said the man with a laugh. “Don’ get out much, do ye?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Suppose it don’ matter when ye have a place on the ‘Quizitor’s arm.” He gave Cullen a friendly smack on the back of the shoulder, and turned back into his tent, leaving Cullen alone again to make the trek back to the old Rutherford farmstead.

He ducked under the canopy in the front doorway a few minutes later to find Lupa still in the old family room, sitting on the floor. She had one of Rom’s paws in her hands and an orb of soft green light hovering over her.

She must have heard him step in, because she was watching him already when he spotted her. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever get back.”

He smiled and moved to sit on the floor with her. It wasn’t quite as comfortable as it used to be. “I was talking to a number of people,” he told her, handing her the bag of food. It was mostly fruit and roots, things that were safe to eat uncooked, as well as a few generous pieces of cured venison. She created a few more orbs, their light changing to a harsh white, and scattered them around the ceiling before reaching into the bag and pulling out a citrus.

“There are a couple of Rifts on the other side of town,” he continued, donning the title of Commander again for a moment while he gave her the news. “There have been no issues as of yet. The people have given them a wide berth, and it appears the demons are content to sit under the Rift instead of venturing out.”

Lupa nodded. “It seems they lose power when they get too far away from the Rifts,” she explained. “Many are content to let you come to them, even if they see you, but once you’re in their ‘safe zone’, they won’t hesitate.”

“Matthias told me he saw one that involved a Rage and a Despair, so I think it best we leave them until my soldiers arrive tomorrow. I can accompany you, along with the Templars I’ve assigned here,” he offered.

“If they’re not bothering the villagers, then that’s perfect,” Lupa agreed with a nod. Cullen pulled out a piece of the venison and tore into it. He was about halfway through when Lupa spoke up again. “You were a cute kid.”

He almost choked, staring at her questioningly. “And just how would you know that?”

“Well, I took a nap. Naturally, I came across memories of this place,” she said matter-of-factly as she bit into a carrot. “I remember you telling me about the first time you beat your sister at chess, and that’s what the Fade showed me. You must have been totally insufferable after that.”

Cullen laughed. Of course she would have seen something while she was sleeping. “Of course I – um, actually, yes I was,” he admitted sheepishly.

She giggled at him. He looked into the bag of food; there was only one last piece of venison, and he offered it to her. She accepted it with a smile and got to her feet.

“So what’s this ‘one more thing’ you want to show me?” she asked, and he got to his feet as well. He was a little nervous about it, but he _had_ promised her.

If anything, he was more nervous about what would come after.

“Come with me,” he told her softly.

“Do I need my staff?”

“I don’t think you will, no.”

“Good,” she murmured, before looking down at Rom. “Are you coming?”

Romulus told them he’d rather stay behind and watch the property, so they moved on without him.

Cullen led Lupa across the fields behind the house to a small cluster of trees. They were about to emerge on the other side when a bright green glow broke through the trees in front of them, and Lupa’s palm flared.

“ _Fenedhis,”_ she muttered. Cullen pulled his sword, careful to stop it from ringing too loudly.

When they broke through the line of trees, Cullen could see that it was right in their way; they’d have to close it to get to where he was taking her.

He turned to look at Lupa when she breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s a weak one, we’ll be okay,” she told him in a confident whisper. The Rift was the same size as all the others he had ever seen, but this one was surrounded by nothing more than a handful of Wisps. “Watch this.”

She stretched out her left hand, her Anchor pulsing softly, stretching her fingers for a second before closing her fist tightly. The Rift responded, shooting out bolts that connected with the Wisps and pulled them back across the Veil.

“There are always two waves before it’s weak enough to close,” she explained to him as he waited, watching her. Another group of Wisps popped up, accompanied by a single Shade this time, and when she flexed her hand again, it was the only thing left standing.

“Allow me,” Cullen told her, rushing the demon. It tried to swipe at him, but its weak claws didn’t even scratch his leather tunic, and he put his sword through it. It screamed as it fell through the earth, its life force dragged back into the Rift, and then Cullen recognized the amorphous blob that told them the Rift could be closed.

Lupa was already beside him, her face screwed up in concentration, teeth bared, as two thin ribbons of magic unfurled from her palm. He had only ever witnessed her closing a Rift once before, and he hadn’t realized then just how different this magic felt from her usual; it was still strangely familiar, but not distinctly hers, and he was having a hard time placing it.

She jerked her hand straight down and behind her about ten seconds after connecting with the Rift, and it boomed shut, falling apart as pieces of goo fell to the ground and disappeared.

Lupa was shaking her head slowly, her Anchor once again quiet and non-descript against her palm. Cullen sheathed his sword before reaching out to put a hand on her back.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Hm?” she looked at him, her eyes bright and unaffected. “Oh, I’m fine. Sometimes it leaves me a bit dazed for a few seconds afterward. Shall we continue?”

So Cullen dropped his hand from her back and led the way again. He could see their destination, now that the Rift was gone: a short dock, next to a gigantic windmill overlooking a large, quiet pond.

“What does it feel like?” he asked her suddenly. “Closing a Rift.”

“It’s almost like trying to shut a heavy door, but someone stronger is on the other side trying to keep it from being shut,” she told him quietly, almost academically. “And then they reach through and grab your wrist, trying to pull you across to the other side. That’s when I pull my hand back, and it closes.”

“What happens if you’re not fast enough?” Maker, could she get pulled through? Possessed? He didn’t even want to consider what could happen.

“No idea, and I don’t intend to find out,” she told him, voice a little worried.

They continued in silence until they reached the dock a minute later. Cullen could make out the small islet in the middle of the pond, an old Alamarri statue crumbling away slowly.

“Where are we?” Lupa asked quietly, stepping carefully on the old wood of the dock as she followed a step behind him.

“You walk into danger every day,” he told her quietly. “I brought you along asking you to do the same, but tonight… I had hoped to take you away from that – if only for a moment.” He looked back at her as he reached the end of the dock, leaning against one of the support posts that was sticking up high from the water. “I don’t think I succeeded, thanks to that Rift, but I think we should be okay now. This place was always quiet.”

There was an old abandoned lantern sitting on an upturned box, and Lupa lit it for them, a soft blue light brightening her face softly, accentuating her eyes.

“You came here often?”

“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud,” he chuckled. “I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually.”

“You were happy here?”

She had turned away from the water to face him, and he did the same. “I was,” he answered her softly. “I still am.”

They fell quiet again for a few seconds, and Cullen turned to look out across the water once more, an old and comfortable sense of contentment stealing over him.

“Alone, with a mage…” Lupa murmured, so low Cullen almost missed it. “That doesn’t bother you?”

She was looking out across the pond again, not meeting his eyes. He took a deep breath before answering. “The Templars have rules about… fraternization, but I’m no longer bound by them.” He wasn’t quite sure what she even _meant_ by that question.

“I’m well aware of that,” she answered, not unkindly, and turned to look at him finally. He could see the concern, even fear, in her eyes. “But… you’ve seen the worst mages have to offer. How do you not see that in every mage you meet? In _me_?”

“I don’t,” he assured her, positive he had done so at least once before in the past. “If I’ve given you reason to doubt…” Cullen sighed and turned away, his hand finding the back of her neck. “Maker, of _course_ I have.”

Lupa continued to watch him, and he dropped his hand, turning his whole body to face her before he continued. “Whatever I fear of magic, I see _none_ of that in you.”

She nodded, but stared at her feet.

“The last time I was here was before I left for my Templar training,” he shared, and she looked up at him again, eyes brighter and less worried, taking a step forward and closing the distance between them. Cullen reached into his pocket, fishing for the token his brother had given him. “My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck.” It was a small silver, imprinted with the Empire’s symbol. “Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you, Cullen,” Lupa finally said, “but I don’t think it worked. By the sounds of it, you haven’t been very fortunate.”

Cullen though back on everything that had happened to him for a few seconds before answering. “I should have died during the Blight,” he told her strongly. “Or at Kirkwall, or Haven – take your pick. And yet, I made it back here.” He stared at the coin in his hand again, turning his palm to watch the blue light of the lantern play on it. When he looked up again, Lupa was watching him with a small smile, and he reached out his hands for hers.

“Humour me,” he asked, pressing the coin into her palm, not sure where the desire or the thought to do so had come from. “We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt.”

She looked down at their hands together for a few seconds; hers were so tiny and delicate in his, and he loved the feeling of it. “Are you sure? I don’t want your luck to run out.”

“Nor do I, now that I finally have some,” he admitted warmly. “But I’d feel better knowing you had some, too.”

“Then I’ll keep it safe,” she promised him.

“Good. I know it’s foolish, but… I’m glad.”

He pulled her close, bending down to brush his lips against hers, but she broke from him with a huff after only another few seconds. “Um… maybe I could start keeping this safe in the morning?” she asked. “I don’t have any pockets, and I don’t want to accidentally drop it or something equally stupid.”

He laughed and took it back, tucking it away again, and this time she smiled, standing on the tips of her toes to reach up and grab the sides of his head with both hands, dragging him down for a longer, hungrier kiss.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa spent their entire walk back to the farmstead trying to figure out why she was so ridiculously affected by this man.

All it took was one kiss, and she was like an unstable teenager again, desperate for more contact, incapable of reason. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the feeling having a presence in her life again, but she had _never_ been this far a slave to her own body.

Not even with Owain.

If she had been pondering the whole situation after a quiet evening to herself, she may have felt guilty at the thought; because her heart was racing and her blood roaring in her ears, pulsing behind her navel, she thought it the most normal thing in the world.

Their rings were still on her right hand, ever-present. Sometimes she felt guilty for wearing them, and she would take them off; then she would feel sick with betrayal, and she would put them back on only minutes later. She couldn’t make up her mind about what to do.

She clearly cared for the Commander, and he for her. She had finally been able to get past that roadblock after Haven, but she wondered if it made him uncomfortable to see her still wearing her rings, if it was a reminder that she was only partially his.

The thoughts were still swirling through her head when they reached the house again, and Cullen pushed he canopy of vines aside to let her in. She smiled at him and crossed the threshold, moving immediately toward her pack and bedroll in the family room.

Romulus was gone; she wasn’t sure where he went, but she knew he’d be back by morning. Maybe he had found some villagers to feed him or something.

Cullen’s boots sounded across the hard wooden floor, and she was only halfway across the room when he grabbed her shoulder lightly to spin her around, his arms wrapping around her to crush her close, and he bent down to give her another kiss.

This time it was _definitely_ hungry, and Lupa was lost in it in a matter of seconds, forgetting everything she had just been thinking about. She gasped for air as they came apart, Cullen pushing her against the wall supporting the staircase.

“Now, I’m not… asking you to stop,” she managed, somehow, “but I _am_ curious about where this came from.”

“I believe I promised to prove to you that I am _not_ interested in useless village women,” he answered, his lips pink and swollen, his honey eyes dark and lidded.

“I thought that’s what the coin was for,” she prodded.

“What? Oh,” he stumbled. “That was actually, um… not premeditated.”

Lupa giggled. “Then how do you plan on proving it to me?” she asked, reaching for the bottom hem of his shirts.

He brushed her hands away and yanked his shirts over his head one at a time, tossing them over his shoulder. “The sooner you stop asking,” he told her, his voice dropping by an octave, “the sooner you’ll find out.”

Lupa immediately shut up, and he smirked at her, leaning in for another scorching kiss. She trailed her fingers down his sides again, searching for the edge of his waistband-

“Ah-ah,” he stopped her, his hands finding hers, bringing both of her wrists together in one of his hands and placing them lightly over her head. Her elbows were bent strongly, and instead of leaving them hanging in front of her face, she spread them to the sides, by her ears, opening her chest up.

“Hands to yourself,” he muttered as he stared at her desperately.

“Why?” she demanded, unable to form a more cohesive thought.

“You can consider _this_ ,” he gently tightened his grip around her wrist for a second, “to be punishment for our War Council the other day.”

She arched against the wall in response, her breathing already short and shallow, and he let her go long enough to get rid of her shirts, growling when he saw that he didn’t have to fight with a breastband. He gathered her wrists above her head again and left a trail of bite marks down her neck before taking one of her almost uncomfortably tightened nipples into his mouth.

Creators, this man and his _teeth,_ what she wouldn’t give to find out how his tongue worked-

She was losing control of her aura, and it spread to fill the room wildly. Cullen hummed his approval against her chest and she arched into him again, but he looked up and let her fall from his lips just as a strange touch met her wrists under his touch.

He let her wrists go, but they stayed there. Lupa tried to stretch her neck back to look, but she couldn’t quite see, so she closed her eyes and tried to focus on what it felt like.

“This is… a little bizarre.” Cullen admitted. “I never thought I’d ever see a woman being tied up by a tree.”

Lupa could hear the wood creaking as it stretched and wound itself around her, tiny leaves like a willow tree tickling her wrists.

She tried to pull her hands free, but the branch held her solidly and softly in place. She stopped testing them when Cullen’s hands found the dip of her waist.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, “and don’t open them until I tell you.”

She complied immediately, resting her head against the wall and tipping her chin toward the ceiling, exposing her throat. Cullen pressed another mouthy kiss to her pulse there before his touch disappeared for a few seconds.

He started pulling on the lacing of her breeches, and she tried not to curl her hips as he worked, loosening the cotton ties and stretching the waistband out so he could drag them down to the floor. She kicked them off desperately and shivered when she felt the growl that came from him in the fronts of her thighs.

One of his hands found the front of her hip, holding her strongly against the wall, and the other hooked behind her knee, draping it over what she could only assume was his shoulder. She whimpered and tried to move her hips, but his hand kept her from succeeding.

“A little wound up, are we?” he commented. She could smell herself, knew she would be dripping wet, and by Mythal’s mercy, if he didn’t do something with her _right now_ -

A finger found her pulsing nub, her sensitive bundle of nerves between her folds, and followed it all the way down to her entrance, sliding deep into her core.

Lupa arched and cried out, straining against the branch that was holding her hands as he curled the end of his finger lightly before drawing it all the way out again. The hand on her hip slid to the front of her thigh when she shivered, his other curling around the top of her leg that was thrown over his shoulder. She could feel her arousal still on his hand, wet against the hot skin on her thigh. “Lupa,” he commanded, and she whimpered again in response, “look at me.”

His breath was hot against her, and she coaxed open her tightly shut eyes, pointing her chin down to look at him. He was kneeling there in front of her, sitting back on his heels so he would be at the right height, and he slowly, deliberately, teasingly, flattened his tongue and swiped it from her entrance to her throbbing, pulsing sweet spot.

Lupa threw her head back, her breath catching, chest heaving, and then she shuddered violently, a deep, feral moan escaping from the bottom of her lungs. He chuckled against her, and she shivered again, the vibrations shooting through her, but then he lifted his face away and kissed the inside of her thigh.

She tried to catch her breath, but she looked back down again in time to watch him lick another line of pleasure across her, and her head hit the wall with a dull _thud_ as he continued this time, drawing slow lines and careful circles, his stubble scratching against her deliciously.

Just when she thought she had managed to gain a small measure of control over herself again, his wet hand on her thigh disappeared, and he slid a finger inside her again, making her shudder and whimper. She could barely catch her breath, her desire getting wildly out of hand behind her navel.

She was starting to reach a fever pitch, some inarticulate sound or another escaping her on every exhale, when he pulled away a second time, leaving her gasping, empty, and cold.

“Almost done already?” he asked. “And here I thought I was just getting started.”

“Creators, Cullen, _please,”_ she begged, unsure how she even formed the words. “I don’t even – don’t even care how quickly-”

His tongue found her again, and a finger, and then _two_. She was coming undone, she could feel it, though it was a different feeling than usual: it was as if someone were breathing life back into dying coals, one twig at a time, slowly building it back to a bonfire.

He was patient; he must have felt the change in her, heard the way her breathing was hitching, but he didn’t increase his pace, instead letting it build slowly, until finally the fire in her belly roared.

She screamed, the sound coming from deep in her chest but ripping through her throat, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over her endlessly. She writhed, hands straining against the branch holding her, while Cullen continued to stimulate her, his fingers prodding and curling, his tongue gliding soft circles into her skin. If not for his hand on her leg, which would likely end up bruising her from the effort up keeping her upright, she would have collapsed on the floor.

Her magic got out of hand, the smell of ozone filling the room, and the entire house started to creak and sway in response. There was a quiet clap of thunder, sounding distant, and flashes of purple that lit up the ceiling.

He helped her ride out her climax for as long as possible, sliding his hand away from her and kissing her folds gently as he straightened out his back again. Lupa was gasping, her throat raw, and when his hand holding her up loosened, she sagged against the wall, her knee giving out.

The branch around her wrists stopped her from dropping all the way, but it started to unfurl, slowly lowering her to the floor. Her leg slipped from Cullen’s shoulder, and she was sitting in front of him only moments later, her elbows out to the sides of her head again, and her knees bent sharply and spread wide, completely open and vulnerable in front of the man who had just turned her into a whimpering, soaked, shuddering puddle of person on the floor.

He smirked and chuckled, wiping his face dry on the back of his arm before leaning forward again and kissing her languidly, the searing heat of passion replaced by the warm glow of affection. Lupa could taste herself on him, and she moaned pathetically again.

He got up a little gingerly a minute later and crossed the room to retrieve their bedrolls and a waterskin. Lupa finally managed to pull her aura under control, coaxing the branch to let her go, and her arms dropped, her palms hitting the hard floor with a _smack_.

“Your father was right,” Cullen teased her as he crossed back over to her, shaking out their thin down-stuffed mattresses after handing her the waterskin. “They probably heard you in Skyhold.”

Lupa sighed as she handed him the waterskin back, and he took a short sip while she cleared her throat. “Would you rather I stayed quiet?” she managed to ask, her voice sounding like the edge of a serrated blade.

“I never said that,” he murmured, voice low.

Lupa yawned wide, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. It was almost a good thing he wasn’t allowing her to touch him; she didn’t think she could reciprocate if she tried. She crawled over to where he set up their bedrolls a few feet away, and when she flattened out on one side, he drew a blanket over her, up to her shoulders. She turned onto her side, her back facing him, and he settled in close, hugging the curve of her body, and arm thrown around her waist and between her breasts so his hand could rest on her shoulder. She lifted her head just enough that his other arm could rest under the curve of her neck.

“Cullen?” she asked sleepily.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Thank you,” she told him.

He asked her something, but she didn’t answer, unable to make out his words as she floated into sleep, his warmth against her back more comforting than any other sensation she had known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, um, this chapter... 
> 
> Not sure where the whole "I just brought dead wood back to life" thing came from; originally she was just going to be able to restore the wood to 'less rotten', but again, it got a little out of hand. 
> 
> And I have nothing to say about the rest of it.


	30. And Grew Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff and a bit of angst. A little on the short side. Sorry!

Lupa’s sleep was fitful; every time Cullen woke from a nightmare, it woke her, too. She tried to get through in time to intervene each time, but they passed so quickly there was little she could do.

He gave up just before dawn, placing a soft kiss behind her ear and telling her to go back to sleep for another few hours. When she woke again, ready to face the day, he was still absent.

Lupa could see her clothes from the day before strewn carelessly across the floor of the old family room, and became very aware of her own nudity; she hadn’t even considered the way he had stripped her down feverishly the night before, as if he had done it a million times before. She had always been a girl who was comfortable in her own skin, but she also knew such a thing meant much more to Chantry types than it did to the Dalish. She hoped he wouldn’t think ill of her for allowing it.

Not that she really would have wanted to stop him, anyway.

She thought about it for a few minutes, her thoughts twisting back to where they had been last night, before he had so efficiently changed her train of thought. She flipped to lying flat on her back, bringing her hands out from under the blankets to look at the rings staring back at her from her right hand.

Rings given to her by another man, in another time; when life was simpler, and if she cared to admit it, boring by comparison.

Was this the final piece of her old life that she needed to be rid of? Was she strong enough to put it behind her, for Cullen’s sake?

 The different gems scattered all through both rings glittered in the light filtering through a nearby window, setting a rainbow of reflections across the walls and ceiling. Lupa stared at them until she saw Romulus push through the front entry.

He didn’t say anything, coming to lay with her, pushing his nose under her hands. She scratched behind one of his ears absently as she stared at them.

“What do I do, Rom?” she asked, voice no more than a whisper. She felt like she had tried to eat dragon scales for dinner the night before, and cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the sensation.

He gave her little in the way of a concrete answer. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She could do it. She _would_ do it, for Cullen.

She would do _anything_ for him.

Lupa opened her eyes and pulled her rings off her hand. Romulus perked his ears and huffed as she reached out, stretching to try to grab her pack without having to get up.

She couldn’t quite reach, so she sat up properly and stretched, the blanket over her falling down to her lap.

“Good morning,” Cullen’s voice came from the front door, and he crossed the room to give her a quick kiss. He smelled strongly of sweat, and he had his sword with him; he must have gone to run some morning drills by himself when he couldn’t sleep.

Her hand was closed tightly over the rings in her hand, and she stood to get her pack when he turned his back to her. She secured the rings in a small pocket on the inside of her pack before digging out clean clothes for the day, letting her magic smooth out her hair, pulling it back into the high bun she preferred to wear when she knew she would be fighting.

Lupa and Cullen worked hard over the course of the day; they went and spoke with the villagers until the soldiers arrived around mid-morning. She wondered if maybe she could rebuild the town for them, thinking about the way her magic had restored the Rutherford barn and farmstead, but Cullen advised her against it.

“These people are… very distrustful of magic,” Cullen admitted to her apologetically. “You remember the statue in town that I showed you?”

“The golem that belonged to Wilhelm?”

Cullen nodded. “The villagers believe it killed him when one of his experiments went too far. They weren’t too upset – he used to always try to scare them with it, showing off his magic in dangerous ways. Matthais told me yesterday that he had demons imprisoned in his basement for quite some time. If you were to try anything that isn’t Chantry approved, they might become… hostile. Restoring my family’s holdings is no issue, but the rest of the town…” He let out an aggressive huff. “Besides, you were exhausted after two buildings yesterday. I cannot in good conscience let you go and try restoring twenty times that many housings.”

Lupa just nodded in resignation, and she left it alone for the rest of the day, focusing on the Rifts that needed closing and getting the Inquisition soldiers properly situated. Cullen had them set up camp on the fields near his home, giving them use of the stable for solid shelter and storage.

“I knew something about you was off today,” Cullen said to her as they finally retired to the farmstead for the night, leaving dinner with the soldiers as the moon started to rise.

“Hm?” Lupa asked, wringing her hands. They felt so naked and strangely light without her rings in place.

“You took off your rings,” he told her, reaching out and grabbing her right hand, thumbing the bare skin where they would usually sit. They were stopped just inside the front entry of the house. “You’ve looked a little sick all day. I was afraid you were coming down with something, but that’s what it is, isn’t it? You _never_ take them off.”

Lupa sighed sadly, looking at their hands joined between them. “I thought…” By the Dread Wolf, how was she going to explain this?

“You thought…” he prompted, and she swallowed thickly as she continued.

“I thought that maybe, you might think…”

“‘I might think,’ what?” he asked, when she didn’t continue again. He was looking at her worriedly, and when she looked up to find his honey browns again, she was captivated, and couldn’t look away.

“You might think I’m not taking this seriously,” she answered finally in a flood. “That I’m still too invested in the past to care. That my heart still belongs to a man long dead and gone.”

He let her hand go to place a palm gently on the side of her face, flattening her ear to the side of her head. He let out a short huff, not quite a laugh, and smirked almost sadly, the scar on his lip tugging. “The past can’t be changed, Lupa,” he told her quietly, his voice low. “I know that, and I wish so badly that it could. The only thing we can do is be grateful that our paths have brought us to where we are now.”

His hand dropped from her face, and she looked down at her feet in shame.

“I remember my mother giving me some advice before I left for my Templar training,” he continued, walking halfway across the room and staring at the ruined couch under the weathered glass window. “We sat right here, and she told me… a few things.” He was lost in thought for a few moments, and Lupa looked up to watch his back as the silence stretched on. “One of the last things she told me – I’ll never forget it. ‘Your first love will always hold a place in your heart, Cullen,’ she told me. ‘Whether it be a place of longing, hatred, friendship, mourning, it doesn’t matter – there will always be a place.’”

He turned back to her. “Where did you store them?”

Lupa crossed to her pack as she thought on what he said, digging out the two extravagant bands of metal and gems she had put away that morning. When she looked back at him, he held out his hand, so she padded quietly over to him and deposited them into his waiting palm.

He reached out for her right hand again, and slowly, deliberately, pushed them one at a time back onto her finger. “This dedication may seem detrimental to you,” he told her as the first passed her knuckle, “but it means a lot to me.” The second one followed as he continued. “I’m not asking you to forget the one who claimed your heart first. All I’m asking for is honesty; that when you say you care, you mean it with as much of yourself as you can give.”

Lupa felt a tear slide down her cheek before she could stop it. He dropped her hand to brush it away, and she closed her eyes, basking in his words, his patient understanding. “Thank you,” was all she could say, her hoarse voice breaking on the ache in her throat that the tears had brought on.

He drew her close then, one hand rubbing soft circles into her back, the other gently holding her head to his chest. They stood like that for a few minutes before Lupa pulled away. She was tired, and wanted to be well rested for the morning; they would be starting their journey back to Skyhold at first light.

He looked at her again, through her, his gaze heavy. His hand briefly found hers again, and he held it up to look at her rings one more time. “These, they say so much about you… and they – they make me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lupa asked curiously. “For what?”

But Cullen just shook his head and smiled at her again, giving her a soft, reverent kiss before turning back to his pack, leaving Lupa confused but strangely peaceful.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas stood leaning over the wall between his usual haunt and Cullen’s office, watching the Commander and his Little One returning from their trip.

He had been standing watching the gates for a few hours already. It had been quite peaceful until he saw the soldiers there flying into a flurry, the two of them crossing back into the lower courtyard only minutes later.

The sight of them there together sent a flurry of emotions running through the old elf, but before he could consider what he was feeling, Cole materialized next to him.

“A tiny token against her heart, warm honey as he spots it there. Not right, not best, but what he wants. Wolf and Lion as one.”

Solas turned to look at the boy: he was sitting on the edge of the wall, rocking back and forth, tapping a hand against his knee, his face entirely hidden by the excessively wide brim of his hat.

Solas said nothing in return, and they both turned to watch as Cullen and Lupa led their mounts back to the stables.

“Rings pressed into a patient palm, pushed back into place one by one,” Cole said again. “Hurting, but happy, hoping it heralds a future he wants more than anything.”

Cullen looked at Lupa beside him in the courtyard below, the midday sun reflecting off his blonde hair, and Solas sighed sadly as he imaged the way the Commander would be smiling at her.

Cole looked at him, finally tipping his head at such an angle that Solas could see the spirit’s face. “Not what she should have, what she deserves. He turns the world green, red, blue, unaware and unaffected. Words spoken to comfort, taken seriously, the wrong path chosen.” He stared at Solas pointedly for a few seconds. “It hurts you.”

Solas stared back for half a minute before nodding silently. Of course Cole could sum it all up faster than Solas could sort it out for himself.

_He turns the world green, red, blue:_ envy, rage, despair. Solas knew them all when he saw the Commander.

Rage, for the thought that such a mundane shemlen man would grab her attention. Rage, that a Templar of all things would win her affection, one who could turn on her at any moment.

Despair, that he might do just that someday. Despair, that she was being sucked into the world of the shemlen with her work. Despair, that the one he chose to save the People was slowly abandoning them.

Envy, that she had grown closer to Cullen, and not to _him._

Perhaps that was the hardest to admit; they had been close before, as a teacher became close with their student. He was her educator, her mentor, her protector. Now, he was her ally, her confidante, her friend.

She knew the truth of him. He had begun to hope that she might be able to look past it, but perhaps it was what kept them apart.

Solas knew he was the only elf worth her time in this place; any self-respecting elf would avoid the shem after sating their curiosity, which is what Solas was sure she would do when he encouraged her all those months ago under the trees at Haven.

He hadn’t counted on the two of them actually coming to _care_ for each other, despite what he had told her.

“Abandoned, just like all the rest,” Cole stated evenly. “Float or flounder, sink or swim. She knows the stakes but doesn’t think of them, the entire world on her shoulders. Too bright, hard to see.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Solas finally said, his voice barely loud enough to carry to the boy’s ears.

“I didn’t help,” Cole answered, pouting.

“Sometimes, your help doesn’t help right away,” Solas explained. “Sometimes it takes time and thought on the part of the person being helped to make it work.”

“I hope it works for you,” Cole told him before vanishing abruptly.

Solas turned back to the solar with another quiet sigh as Lupa emerged from the stables alone.

He closed the door behind him, fetching his paints so he could finish his latest panel in his fresco as he contemplated what everything he was feeling actually meant.

He had been… happy, that one day she had come to see him with scruff burns on her skin. Happy that she had moved on, that she had finally made progress, that she finally seemed content again.

It had quickly turned to petty jealousy as word got around the keep that they were involved. He was ashamed to say that he would be glad to see her running to him in tears one day.

Not that he could try to talk her out of it; he had been the one to talk her _into_ it, after all.

Solas hadn’t felt this mortal and vulnerable in a very long time.

“Hahren?” came her voice, drifting over to him from the direction of the main hall.

He turned immediately, a small smile stretching across his face at her presence. Romulus was at her side, relaxed but alert.

“Welcome home, lethallin,” he told her. “How was your trip?”

“It was… interesting,” she told him. He knew she was withholding some information, and ached at the implication.

“Define ‘interesting,’” he asked anyway.

“Well, I…” she fell silent, and he turned to look at her again, seeing her brow furrowing. “I ended up restoring a barn and a house from rotten wood to living trees again, just by letting my aura stretch.”

Solas felt his brows raising. That was… incredibly powerful magic.

He told her so.

“I know,” she muttered. “It scares me a bit.”

“You’ll be fine,” Solas tried to comfort her. “Just do your best to keep your aura under tight control at all times, and you shouldn’t need to worry.”

She nodded. “I just wanted to come and see you, now that we’re back, but I need to go see Josephine. Apparently I need to learn how to dance before we get to the Winter Palace.”

“Is it just Josephine helping you?” Solas asked, honestly curious, but seeing a selfish opportunity.

“As far as I know,” Lupa answered him.

“I will go with you, then,” he told her, putting down his paintbrush. “I know a few things, myself, and I’d be happy to help you prepare.”

She smiled warmly, but not as warm as he wanted. “Ma serannas,” she said to him, and she waited until he crossed the room to walk with her.

They were silent as they made their way to Josephine’s office, and when they arrived, she immediately went to work. Solas held her close, twirling with her silently as the Ambassador directed them, happy to simply have the time he craved with his Little One.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen finally made it back to his office about an hour after he returned; he had been stopped by a few of his Captains along the way, so he had gathered all of those who were at the Keep to a meeting to get a progress report.

He had his hands full of papers when he finally stepped back into his office, expecting to be able to get to his work immediately.

He stopped short when he saw Dorian sitting on the edge of his desk, scratching Romulus under the chin.

“You know, Rom, I’ve never been one for dogs before I met you,” the Tevinter was saying. “You’re much smarter and far cleaner than any other canine I’ve ever met. Do you think Lupa would let me take you home with me when this is all over, or would she tear down Thedas searching for you?”

“I wouldn’t discount the idea,” Cullen added as he stepped behind his desk, depositing his stack of paperwork on the clear spot in front of his chair.

“Commander! Good to see you,” Dorian smiled charmingly. “I’m a little hurt the Inquisitor didn’t come see me right away, but it sounded like she had urgent business with Josephine. Anyway, when I heard, I expected you to be going with her.”

Cullen frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Well, Josephine is teaching her all about courtly intrigues, is she not? Particularly a number of complicated Orlesian dances? I was surprised to hear Solas say he knew something of dancing – I think he went with her,” Dorian prattled.

“Yes, Josie’s sure she’s going to end up on the dancefloor at least once, and wants her prepared for it,” Cullen confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Such dances are not a part of Dalish culture, from what I’m aware.”

“Certainly not,” Dorian agreed. “I can tell you that the court wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they saw her dancing the way she does after a successful hunt. Quite a show, it is, but far less refined than what’s expected at court.”

Cullen had never seen her performing any sort of ritual dancing, and wondered if Dorian was trying to pull one over on him. He decided to leave it.

“Dorian, can I ask why you’re sitting in my office still?”

He looked offended, but Cullen knew it was for effect; he could see the corner of Dorian’s lip curling upward. “Well, I heard Lupa say she would be busy with Josephine learning to dance, and I thought it strange that you weren’t joining her, as I told you already.”

Cullen nodded at him, and he stood up straight, coming around to stand across the desk from Cullen. He placed his palms on the desktop dramatically, looking up at Cullen through his lashes, and Cullen rolled his eyes and chuckled at the man.

Dorian ignored him, pressing on. “Well, here’s the thing, Commander. Our business at the Winter Palace will be taking place during a ball, yes? The kind that requires dancing. Our Inquisitor is a dangerously intelligent, fiercely capable mage, and we should have the assassin dealt with before the end of the night.”

“I’m confident that she will, yes,” Cullen agreed, trying to understand what this had to do with anything.

“That means there will be free time before everyone is kicked out of the Winter Palace,” Dorian continued. “You don’t honestly think she won’t want at least one dance with her dashing paramour?”

Cullen hadn’t thought about that; maybe that was why Josephine had invited him to join them for the dancing lessons when she first decided they were needed. He had told her that he couldn’t afford to take to the dancefloor when they got there, but now suddenly it made much more sense.

“Maker, of course she will,” he breathed, his shoulders dropping as a hand found the back of his neck. He had no idea how to dance; Templars didn’t attend balls, or salons, or anything of the sort.

“Don’t look so defeated, Rutherford!” Dorian exclaimed, and Cullen looked up at him, dropping his hand. “You’re not entirely without hope, yet.” Dorian finally stood straight again, placing one hand on a cocked hip while the other played with the end of his moustache. “I _could_ help you,” he offered. “Not with anything as extravagant as what Lupa’s learning, but with just enough that you’ll be able to share an intimate moment together.”

Cullen’s heart soared. “You could?”

“Most certainly,” Dorian answered, eyebrows raising as he nodded. “Ah, but perhaps we can… keep this a secret? Between the two of us. Well, three-” He looked pointedly at Romulus, who agreed enthusiastically. “Perhaps she’ll appreciate it more if she’s not expecting it.”

Cullen smiled and nodded. “That sounds perfect.”

“Excellent! Though we’ll be strapped for time… you’re usually up late, aren’t you? We may have to work under the cover of night.”

“Whenever we can find time,” Cullen agreed.

“Good. I’ll see you later, then,” Dorian told him as he turned his back, striding to the door leading back to the solar. “Keep to yourself tonight; the Inquisitor’s stolen enough of your time the last week. You’ll live without her, and I find myself craving more refined company than what I’ve been left with while my two favourite Southerners have been away.”

Cullen chuckled as the mage left him, settling into his chair and diving into his work.

Romulus stayed with him, napping under the window behind him for a time, then padding over to sit next to Cullen and place his head in his lap.

His thoughts washed over Cullen continuously, but he was surprised to find it didn’t distract him from his work; in fact, the companionship allowed him to work more efficiently, giving him just enough distraction to keep from overworking himself as he shared a few words now and again with the wolf at his side.

He heard the dinner signal sound, but Leliana stepped into his office as he was about to go get a plate, placing a steaming tray in front of him.

“Welcome back, Commander,” she told him. “I’m sorry to keep you from dinner, but I have important information for you, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Of course,” Cullen nodded, reaching for a sausage and holding it out for Romulus at his side. The wolf took it from him gently, his thanks a quick wash across Cullen’s senses.

“It’s regarding Samson,” Leliana began. Cullen stayed quiet as she explained and placed a hefty report on the top of his stack. They spoke about it for about half an hour before the Spymaster gathered herself to leave again.

“You seem much more relaxed, Cullen,” she commented. “As does the Inquisitor. I trust your trip went well?”

“It was…” Cullen stopped, his mind running over his last week, getting tangled on all the memories he had made there. Leliana raised an eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat. “It was perfect.”

She smiled, a rare warmth in her eyes. “I am glad to hear it,” she told him. “If you have any other questions or concerns, let me know.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” he called after her.

“You are welcome, though there is no need for thanks. This is important to you, I know, but it is also of benefit to the Inquisition.”

She continued out the door, then, and Cullen reached out to stab at the last of his potatoes as he dived back into his reports. There was work to be done, and he only had so much time until Dorian returned.

Cullen sighed and took a deep, contented breath, wondering how Lupa’s lessons had gone that afternoon, wishing they could have stayed in Honnleath, away from the responsibilities of command.

It was a vain wish, he knew, but it didn’t mean he wished for it any less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter basically fell onto the page, though the Solas development was... a bit stronger than I originally intended. I've really made a bad habit of that, haven't I? 
> 
> First time writing Cole, too. I think it went well.


	31. I Am the One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very serious noncon warning here - please don't read past the second break if you're going to be affected, especially the italicized dream sequence.
> 
> EDIT NOTES (April 26/15): For some reason when this first copied over, one of my dialogue lines didn't copy properly - it was one of the ones I mentioned in the end of chapter notes. I've added it back in, but it's not a major change. Just something that I noticed and was bothering me.

The two weeks leading up to the march to Halamshiral and Adamant were gruelling.

Skyhold would be effectively empty; Cullen was leaving behind a contingent of his most capable guards, and Leliana was leaving behind a handful of scouts and assassins, all with the intention of protecting the ever-growing population of pilgrims that the castle housed.

When Lupa wasn’t locked away in Josephine’s office, she was in the training yard, working with her specialist. Solas spent a great deal of time with her on both accounts; he knew a great deal more about dancing than he let on, and he also happened to be proficient in the school of magic Lupa was specializing in.

There was something… different about him these days. Lupa could feel it; a strange gulf had opened between them, and she wondered what it could possibly be. When she tried to talk to Romulus about it, he would give her a very confusing jumble of sensations that would leave her stomach turning.

In the evenings, Alistair would join her in the undercroft to help her work on a new set of armour for herself. They completed it in about a week, so when it was done, they’d go back down to the training yard to spar. Sometimes Hawke would join them; usually she was busy drinking with Varric.

She saw Cullen very little after they returned. He had taken an hour or so of her time to talk about the hunt for Samson the day after they returned, and warned her that there would be little free time.

“You have an army to gather, and I have to learn to dance, of all things,” she had said understandingly, even as she rolled her eyes. He had laughed and thanked her.

It was two days before they would leave Skyhold, when Josephine called everyone together in her office.

Lupa had come up from the training yard with Solas on one side, and Romulus on the other. They were the last to arrive, and when they entered the office, they were met with almost a dozen bright red military jackets. Lupa could even see a red and gold bowtie collar that could only fit either Bull or Romulus; since Bull was testing the give on a military jacket of his own (and if seeing him in a shirt wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d seen in a while…), Lupa decided it must be for Rom.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” Josephine said to her when she finally managed to break through the crowd of her companions. “A dress might be more appropriate for the ballroom, but if there will be fighting, I think you will find this more practical.”

“This is perfect, Josie,” Lupa sighed in relief. Creators help her if she had to wear one of those awful things that she swore existed solely to suffocate a lady.

“Good,” the Ambassador smiled, leaning down to her ear before adding, “though I think at least one party might be a little disappointed by the development.”

Lupa giggled. “Oh, he’ll live. Practicality needs to be the first priority.”

Only a small contingent of her companions would be allowed to actually enter the Winter Palace with her, but they would all be going; those who weren’t going in with her would be watching the outer perimeter, and needed to also look appropriate.

Vivienne had asked to join Lupa in the ballroom, but they had too little experience fighting together. She had instead insisted that Vivienne lead the group who would be waiting outside, and she seemed happy enough with the assignment.

Lupa had decided that Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric would come with her inside: Varric was a famous author, and the other two were of high-born stock.

“You know, Solas, I was thinking we may be able to get you in, too,” she heard Leliana musing nearby. “Though I admit it might be… a little degrading.”

“What do you have in mind?” Solas asked evenly.

“If we can claim that you are the Inquisitor’s servant, or some such…”

“I would not be opposed to the idea,” Solas agreed.

So Solas would be going along, too. Cole would be their messenger with the outside group, and everything would work out.

Lupa hoped it would, anyway.

The last day before leaving was spent double-checking equipment, going over steps one last time, preparing the forces to march. A covered wagon had been procured for Josephine and Leliana. It was large enough for at least half a dozen people, but everyone else insisted on riding at Lupa’s side, so her Ambassador and Spymaster would be able to stretch out and relax a little on the ride.

They met in the War Room after dinner to go over the final details, to confirm routes and day counts.

“The peace talks take place in a week, Inquisitor,” Josephine informed her. “It should take our party no more than four days to arrive, especially considering that we will be heading north and leaving the main body of the army on the morning of the third day.”

Lupa nodded, finding the junction in the road on the map. They would need to head south, first, to cross the mountains by an actual road, before turning north again. The army would then continue west, to the Approach and Adamant fortress.

“Leliana, you have scouts ready to escort you back here after we’re done at the Winter Palace?” Lupa asked for the tenth time that week.

“I have an overabundance of people in Val Royeaux at the moment. They will begin travelling south on the morrow, as well, to meet us for the trip home.”

“Excellent. The Commander and I, as well as all of my companions, will head out immediately for the Approach the morning after our business in Halamshiral is concluded. We should arrive around the same time as the bulk of the army, if not ahead of them thanks to our significantly smaller travel party.” Lupa finally looked up from the map to see them all watching her expectantly. “I will make a stop in at Griffon Wing Keep while we’re in the Approach, though I can’t guarantee whether it will be before or after the fight. If you need to send correspondence, it should be able to find me there.”

They closed their meeting only minutes later, all of them yawning and looking forward to sleep.

 

*                             *                             *

 

The next morning was a flurry of activity; Lupa and her companions were all prepared to go by first light, but the army was so large, it took until midmorning for them to fully mobilize and be prepared to march.

Cullen would be joining her and the others, his reasoning being that he would be going to Halamshiral with them, therefore he should be travelling with them.

No one tried to stop him.

Their first few days were short; the army would be late getting moving, so their small party would get well ahead of them quickly, and need to stop early in the afternoon to wait for the main force to catch up.

The slow travel had been accounted for, though, and they split from the main force on the third day of travel, early in the morning. Cullen stopped them long enough to ensure his Captain and Lieutenants had all the information they needed, and then they were on their way again.

Their third day of travel was far more relaxed than the previous two; with the army going their separate ways, everyone seemed far less stuck in their titles and roles. Cullen finally shared a quiet, warm smile with Lupa, and they rode together at the back of the group.

 Still, they talked little, instead enjoying each others’ company as they listened to the others ahead of them talking about everything and nothing. Solas and Bull were having an intellectual chess match (which Cullen naturally found to be _very_ impressive – it wasn’t something he expected Bull to be able to pull off), Varric and Dorian were placing bets on what they expected at the Winter Palace, Vivienne was trying to goad Cassandra into a discussion about the Seekers, and Blackwall was telling a silly story that had Sera roaring and Cole very confused.

When they found an appropriate campsite, they tied off the horses and built a large fire, dragging fallen trees around to sit on before setting up tents.

Cullen took his time setting his up; Dorian offered to do it for him, but he declined, sensing more than one meaning to the Tevinter’s words.

“Your loss,” Dorian winked at him as he returned to the fire.

“I’d hate to get on Bull’s bad side,” he called back, just quietly enough that Dorian would be the only one to hear it.

“Oh, you play _dirty_ , Commander,” Dorian almost purred. “I won’t forget this.”

Cullen chuckled and finished pegging the corners of his tent down before ducking inside to change into something a little more loose-fitted.

He emerged about ten minutes later. The only one missing from the fire was Leliana; all the others were gathered doing something or other.

Lupa was reading something with Cassandra across the fire; whatever it was, they were both squirming uncomfortably in their seats, their skin a little flushed. Cassandra even let out a shuddering sigh.

“What are you two reading?” he called out curiously, and they both immediately looked up at him with wide, glassy, surprised eyes, mouths hanging open slightly as they considered how to answer.

“Don’t ask, Curly. You won’t like it,” Varric answered as he moved over with a book in his own hands, plopping down next to Cullen on the log. “Take this one instead – I’ve been meaning to give it to you.”

Lupa and Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief and returned to their reading as Cullen examined the tome in Varric’s hand. He reached out to take it when he saw the title.

“For me?” Cullen asked, his brows shooting up.

“Not for the public yet,” Varric told him. “That’s my advanced copy from my editor. I thought you might need something to help you fall asleep, since her Inquisitorialness is being a professional for once.”

“I heard that!” Lupa called out from across the fire, and everyone laughed.

Cullen immediately opened to the first page. “Thank you, Varric.”

“No problem. Just like old times, isn’t it, Curly?” Varric asked with a low chuckle.

Cullen smiled. Varric used to bring him copies of Hard in Hightown to the Gallows after catching him reading on the steps one night. He was sure the dwarf was just looking for an excuse to come in and get information, but Cullen was a shameless fan, and always managed to conveniently look away.

He got through a few pages before he realized that Cassandra was done reading, her book put away or handed off, he wasn't sure. Dorian was grilling her.

“I couldn’t even finish the last one you lent me. I swear I got dumber for having tried.”

“Hey!” Varric chimed in. “That’s _my_ writing you’re talking about!”

“I didn’t like the Captain, either,” Cole added, appearing very suddenly at Cassandra’s side, where Lupa had been sitting.

Cullen looked to find her, and he spotted her with her back to the fire, sitting cross-legged by the treeline, her face turned up to the sky. He was about to get up to go sit with her when Bull put a hand on his chest.

“Leave her, Cullen,” the Qunari told him. “She’s doing some weird elf shit before she takes Varric hunting.”

“‘Weird elf shit?’”

“A prayer to Andruil for a successful hunt,” Solas answered a little sharply, leaning across Varric on Cullen’s left to explain. “Why she still does it is beyond me; Andruil has been locked away for Ages.”

“Just because she’s locked away, doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Lupa answered pointedly as she returned to the edge of the circle. “Varric? Let’s go before Bianca does something to Dorian that you’ll both regret.”

“Whatever you command, Wolfy. Lead the way.”

They left as Leliana joined them at the fire, sitting next to Josephine (who now had Cassandra’s book open in her lap) with a lyre in hand.

It was old and worn, but once she tuned it up, it sounded good enough for a night around the fire. She broke softly into an Orlesian tune, slow and sad, and Bull called for something livelier.

So she played something a bit more upbeat, even breaking into a few of Maryden’s familiar tunes. Cullen simply went back to his book, smiling at the atmosphere around him.

It had been a long time since he’d felt such comradery. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

Dorian had wedged himself between Cullen and Bull at some point, and he knocked Cullen on the chest with a bottle of wine.

“You seriously brought a bottle of wine with you?” Cullen asked as he took it, taking a shallow gulp and handing it back.

“I brought four, actually,” Dorian answered as he followed suit, setting it down by their feet. “The Inquisitor will be upset if we don’t save some for her, so don’t drink it all.”

“If you say so.”

“Ah. Speaking of the Inquisitor,” Dorian murmured, and Cullen saw her and Varric breaking through the trees again, four good-sized ducks carried between them.

“Give those here, dear,” Vivienne called, and they immediately handed her the birds. She set an ice rune on the ground in front of them, letting the ducks rest for no more than fifteen seconds before beginning the arduous task of plucking feathers, helped along by Sera and Josephine.

Varric sat down with Cole across the fire, pulling a deck of cards out of his belt, and Lupa broke into the centre of the circle, standing close to the fire. She began to stomp a foot softly, setting a rhythm, and then she broke into a wild, tribal dance, full of stomping and clapping and twirling in circles around the fire.

Cullen was shocked; he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. No one else seemed to be bothering to watch the display in front of them; the only exception was Leliana, who had begun to play something percussive for Lupa to dance to.

Cullen leaned subtly over to Dorian, knocking their shoulders together. He saw the Tevinter turn to look at him. “I thought you were joking,” Cullen told him.

Dorian laughed loudly. “Oh, no. She does this every night when we’re out saving the world, or whatever it is we do.”

Cullen continued to watch until she finally came to a stop, dropping into the empty spot next to him without even looking. He reached out and handed her the wine bottle.

“Ma serannas,” she told him breathlessly as she took a large mouthful and handed it back to him. Romulus appeared again out of seemingly nowhere, padding over and stretching out at their feet. Lupa reached down and rubbed his belly for him, and he rolled onto his back so she could reach better.

“So what was that you were reading?” Cullen asked again quietly, and Dorian snorted on his other side.

Lupa leaned across him to give Dorian a scathing look, and the mage turned away dramatically. She sat back again and started to pull her hair out of its tight bun, purposely not looking at him as she answered. “Latest chapter of _Swords and Shields_. I had Varric write it for Cassandra – she’s a huge fan. I figured I may as well give it a read, too.”

“ _Swords and Shields?_ ” he confirmed disbelievingly. _“Cassandra?”_

“Oh yes,” Lupa told him, looking at him finally as she threaded her fingers through the hair that suddenly came tumbling over her shoulders. He saw a great number of things in those dusky blue eyes of hers, and it set his heart racing. He swallowed thickly as she continued. “It really is terrible – sorry, Varric – but it’s also absolutely genius. Gets the job done, anyway.”

Dorian snorted again, and she leaned across Cullen’s lap again to smack him. Cullen tried to take a deep breath to calm his racing pulse, but he got a heady whiff of her, and it did everything _except_ help.

When she righted herself, Solas demanded her attention with a discussion on Rift magic, so Cullen went back to his book again.

Leliana began to play another of Maryden’s tunes, and Cullen looked up when both Lupa and Solas stopped talking abruptly. Even Romulus had picked himself up off the ground, sitting regally in front of him.

Leliana’s voice finally drifted in, but she was singing in what could only be elven. Cullen looked at Lupa, and saw a very uncharacteristic gravity and sadness written on her face.

Strangely, it was mirrored on Solas’.

Cullen listened, not entirely sure what the words meant, but they seemed to hold a great deal of weight for the two elves on his left.

 

_Heruamin lotirien_

_Alai uethri maeria_

_Halurocon yalei nam bahna_

_Dolin nereba maome_

 

Lupa reached with her left hand for Solas’ right, threading their fingers together as she stared into the heart of the fire. Cullen saw Solas looking sadly at their palms pressed together for a moment before squeezing her hand and following her gaze.

 

_Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Aloamin Heruamin_

_Heruamin oh lonai_

_Imwe naine beriole_

_Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Aloamin Heruamin_

_Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Noamin_

_Ame amin_

_Halai lothi amin_

_Noamin Heruamin_

 

The campfire was strangely subdued as Leliana finished her song; everyone was staring sadly at the pair of elves at his side. They had pulled their hands apart, but Solas was staring at Lupa’s Anchor, tracing it with a finger.

Cole appeared on the ground in front of them. “Safe, soft, the wolf cares for a new pup, furless and footed. Laughter as she cleans dirt from its face. She will save them.”

“Thank you, Cole,” said Lupa and Solas together, and Cole nodded, picking himself up and walking back over to Varric.

The campfire was dead silent for a few seconds, until Leliana plucked at another string again and life flowed back into their merry band. Cullen was still watching Solas and Lupa, and his brow furrowed when Solas reached up to brush a piece of hair out of Lupa’s face.

The gesture was less paternal than it used to be.

Cullen was oddly satisfied when she cleared her throat quietly, a little uncomfortably, and turned away from Solas to look at him instead. “I’m sorry,” she told him. Solas watched the back of her head for a few seconds before getting up to retrieve his staff and a cloth, sitting back down with Varric and Cole instead of rejoining them.

“That song sounded familiar,” Cullen admitted, and Lupa nodded at him.

“Maryden plays the translated version often. It’s a pretty song,” she answered. “I’m surprised Leliana knows the elven words for it…”

Cullen stayed quiet in case she was planning on continuing, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he spoke up again. “What does it mean?”

Lupa blinked, coming back to herself before answering him again. “It’s a song many elves hold dear, about the one who will save the People from their sad fate in this land.”

Cullen frowned again. “Isn’t… isn’t that what Fen’Harel was teaching you for?”

Solas looked up to watch them again, but Cullen barely noticed the movement, watching Lupa nod instead. “It’s become a very… personal piece of music for me.”

“Would you translate it for me?”

Lupa smiled sadly at him. “Not tonight,” she told him as she turned back to the fire, “but I will. Remind me when there are fewer people around.”

He let them fall silent then. When her hand brushed the outside of his thigh a few minutes later, he reached down and pressed their fingers together, smiling into the fire, content to let the rest of the world pass them by.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_He was in a wild, overgrown forest. It was dark, and he was in nothing more than a soft cotton shirt and leather pants, not even a sword; an unusual outfit for him to dream in._

_He walked, not sure where he was going, simply placing his feet where the path was clearest. He seemed to wander that way forever, and perhaps he was going in circles. What did he care if he never came out of the tranquil maze around him? Could he really complain, if it meant the nightmares would end?_

_A startled cry sounded nearby, and suddenly her signature was filling the gaps between the trees. They swayed as the night sky overhead clouded over, the smell of ozone filling Cullen’s nose._

_He began to pick his way towards the sound, more desperately as he began to feel the panic laced in her aura. It was too accurate for her to_ not _be there with him; his dreaming imagination could never conjure it exactly right._

_He heard angry voices speaking in elven before he broke into the glade, and he walked into a terrifying scene._

_Lupa was on her knees, her head bent, shoulders slumped forward and shaking as heavy sobs racked through her. She was entirely nude, her loose hair curtaining her face the only thing covering the soft curve of her breasts._

_There was a tall elf standing in front of her, shirtless but wearing a strange sort of skirt wrap, leaning heavily on a simple staff as he flung heavy locks over his shoulder. He said something to her roughly in elven, his voice both strange and familiar at once. Lupa whimpered._

_The elf in front of her bent and hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up and bare her throat to him, exposing her bare chest. She saw Cullen standing across the glade from her, and her eyes went wide with fear._

_The elf turned around to follow her line of sight, and Cullen immediately shifted into defensive mode. If he focused strongly enough past the hair, Cullen could almost see the elf as a younger Solas; only instead of cold blue eyes, this elf’s were a fiery red, exactly the same colour as the pair on Lupa’s forehead._

_“See what happens, Commander,” the elf spat aggressively, his accent heavy, “when the Chosen One turns on her People.”_

_The elf turned back to Lupa at his feet, and she heaved in a heavy, steadying breath as he threw out a hand, knocking her backwards and sprawling with nothing more than the brute force of his aura._

_Cullen tried to jump to her aid, but he was frozen; when he tried to struggle, the elf looked over his shoulder and smirked dangerously at him._

_“I told you to watch,” he told him. “For a military man, you are terrible at following orders.”_

_Lupa tried to straighten herself up, but another blast of his aura held her back down. She was exposed in the most torturous way, and Cullen never thought he would ever be so disgusted by the sight of her._

_What he didn’t understand was why she wasn’t bothering to retaliate._

_The elf bent over her, trailing a finger from beneath her chin all the way down her throat, between her breasts, past her navel, stopping just shy of her pubic mound._

_“Your pretty little shemlen toy is all tied up, pup,” he told her, voice low but carrying. “There’s nothing you can do against me now. How shall I possibly teach you your lesson? I’ve heard you’re an_ excellent _student.”_

_The elf pushed her knees further apart roughly, kneeling between them and flattening himself on top of her. His skirt pooled on her stomach, and Cullen saw Lupa taking a deep breath and screwing her eyes shut._

_The elf cocked his head at her, watching her for a moment. Cullen saw him slowly flexing his back, his hips lowering to meet hers-_

_“Halam sahlin,” Lupa spat, her aura hardening and sweeping outward like a wave as he threw his head back, and Cullen roared-_

He sat straight upright in bed, still roaring like a wounded animal, his heart pounding and vision red from the rage of what he’d just witnessed.

He was sitting there for half a minute, trying to get his heavy breathing under control, when Dorian ducked into his tent.

“I know you enjoy shouting in your sleep, Commander, but really-” he started to say, until he cast a soft purple light overhead and caught a look at Cullen’s expression. “Maker, what’s happened?”

They both turned as a terrible retching noise sounded from outside. “ _Bellanaris din'an heem.”_

Cullen’s stomach dropped. It was Lupa.

He tried to get out of bed, but Dorian put a forceful hand on Cullen’s shoulder. He was about to knock some sense into the mage when Lupa ducked in, her expression haunted. Romulus was at her side, his hackles raised.

“No,” Cullen muttered, absolutely livid.

“Lupa?” Dorian asked. “What is going on?”

“I need you to leave us, Dorian,” she managed.

“He just woke up roaring like an Abyssal High Dragon, and you’re shaking worse than a leaf in a snowstorm! Like hell I’m leaving!” he argued, but steel came into Lupa’s eyes.

“Dorian,” was all she said, and he sighed, rising.

He just nodded, looking between them for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Lupa muttered, not meeting his gaze. “I…will explain when I can.”

He placed a palm on her cheek softly for a few seconds before exiting the tent, his purple light still hovering near the canvas ceiling.

“What just happened?” Cullen asked aggressively.

“I just almost got raped, _again_. I don’t even know what by.” The words were acid; quiet, low, and vicious, and Cullen’s anger dissolved, immediately replaced by the overwhelming urge to protect. “And then I likely would have been possessed. I have no idea what that was, but I wish I had been able to kill it.”

She was wearing the shirt he had left with her, but her legs were bare. He didn’t know what to do; could he touch her, or would that make her more upset?

She crossed the room and sat next to him, hip to hip, drawing his blankets over her legs. He turned and grabbed her in a rough embrace, Rom leaning on her back and pinning his hands.

She _was_ shaking, very badly, and when he pulled her into his chest, she began to cry. They were great, racking sobs, and Cullen felt a few tears of his own escape as she went on.

“Where is she?” he heard from outside again. It was Solas, and his voice was panicked.

“With the Commander,” answered Dorian. “It appears that whatever happened, it happened to both of them.”

“And just _what_ , exactly, happened?”

“She didn’t tell me,” Dorian sighed, “but I got the impression that it was far from good.”

“I need to talk to her-”

“No offense, Solas, but if she sent me away, I don’t think she’ll let you join them, either.”

“You know nothing-”

“Let it go, Chuckles,” Varric’s voice joined the fray. “If it’s between her and Curly, she’s going to want to deal with it without interruptions from the rest of us.”

“Exposed and exhausted, her saviour frozen. A finger tracing her stomach, contained, controlled, contaminated. All I need is the strength for one last push.”

Everyone fell silent at Cole’s words.

“She needs help, but not from me, and not from you,” Cole told them all strongly.

It fell silent outside after some rustling, telling of the others returning to their tents. Lupa finally looked up and swallowed thickly, her eyes swollen and red, her face blotchy. She heaved in another shuddering breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Cullen finally choked out, brushing her tears away with the fleshy pad of his thumb as Romulus whined against her back.

She shook her head. “There was nothing you could do,” she told him thickly. Another shaky breath. “That… whatever – it looked – looked like _him_ , back in the days of Arlathan.”

Cullen stared at her, horrified. “Like Fen’Harel?”

Lupa flinched, and then nodded, her eyes squeezing shut again. He chose not to voice his opinion on who _he_ though the other elf looked like; it would be difficult enough seeing him in the morning.

Lupa extinguished the light on the ceiling, and moved to lower herself down on Cullen’s bedroll. He followed her, leaving an arm under the curve of her neck as she curled into his side, her ear pressed against his shoulder, an arm and a leg sliding over him, Romulus settling into her back. It was quiet for another few moments when she started singing, her voice unsteady and haunting, though he was sure it would have sounded beautiful under different circumstances.

 

_I feel sun_

_Through the ashes in the sky._

_Where's the one_

_Who'll guide us into the night?_

_What's begun_

_Is the war that will_

_Force this divide._

_What's to come_

_Is fire and the end of time._

_I am the one_

_Who can recount_

_What we've lost._

_I am the one_

_Who will live on._

_I have run_

_Through the fields_

_Of pain and sighs._

_I have fought_

_To see the other side._

_I am the one_

_Who can recount_

_What we've lost._

_I am the one_

_Who will live on._

He recognized it now; the format of the translated version was different, probably not a true translation. Her voice broke at the end, and she took in one more shuddering breath.

“This is what I am, what I bring to the world,” she said with a sniffle. “And _that_ is what I get in return.”

He tightened his grip on her, lying awake for a long time after she fell asleep again, her song and her words weighing on him more heavily than the world she was trying to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was bracing. 
> 
> I took a few of the phrases from the Wiki: 'Halam sahlin' is said to mean 'this ends now', while 'Bellanaris din'an heem' is roughly/literally translated to 'make you dead'. 
> 
> The song Leliana sings is the elven version of 'I Am the One' that plays over the credits at the end of Origins, but you're smart, and probably already knew that.


	32. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major quest time, and full Cullen POV.

Cullen was glad to see that Lupa was mostly back to her normal, troublesome self by the time they arrived at the Winter Palace.

They had stayed at their camp a half-day’s ride away until the day of the ball itself, riding carefully in their formal dress. Lupa finally returned to her own tent and stayed there for the whole night the night previous, and Cullen had slept poorly.

“Halamshiral…” she murmured from beside him as the Winter Palace came into view. “‘The End of the Journey.’ We shall see if it holds true to its name, hm?”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Cullen answered, awed.

“The Winter Palace is grand, but I can’t help but wish it didn’t mar the land. Another reminder of what we’ve lost.” She looked at him curiously then. “You know, I’ve always found it intriguing that you’re such a devout Andrastian, but you seem to genuinely agree with me on most things regarding elven heritage.”

Cullen thought about her words for a few minutes before responding. “In the Circles, many of us never saw the elves as any different from the humans, or the other way around. Though there are never any elven Templars, for obvious reasons, there were a fair few elven mages, in both the Ferelden and Kirkwall Circles. I suppose we all believed that a mage was a mage, nothing more, nothing less. It’s a terrible way of looking at it, and I can’t honestly say there weren’t _any_ Templars who didn’t treat the elves worse than the humans, but…” He sighed, realizing he was rambling, but Lupa seemed to still be waiting on him to continue, so he collected his thoughts and tried again. “I may be a soldier, but if the Chant of Light needs to be spread through a holy war, then I will turn my blade against the Chantry gladly, even if it means I end up on the end of one. There are better ways to do such things.”

“Weren’t you worried that the Inquisition might try something similar?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Perhaps, for a short while in the beginning,” he admitted, “though it was still better than continuing to serve the Templars. All fears ceased when they named _you_ Inquisitor.”

“Is that so?” she smirked at him, and he felt his heartrate picking up.

He made some inarticulate sound of approval, and she giggled at him.

“All right, I’ll stop distracting you,” she teased him. “Can’t have you walking around the Winter Palace like you sat on your sword.”

He laughed at that, and they continued their ride in silence.

They were inside the Palace an hour later, flanked by Cassandra on his right, and Varric on his left, Romulus sitting between them. The others were spread out in the Vestibule outside the Grand Ballroom. Lupa was still outside, doing Maker knows what, but Leliana had needed to almost drag him inside when he heard an ignorant noble call her a ‘rabbit.’

It had been agreed that Romulus would stay close to Solas for the majority of the evening; he was positioning as Rom’s handler when Lupa wasn’t able to afford him the time, almost like a pet babysitter. The fact that Romulus had been let into the Palace to begin with was a miracle, and as long as he was with _someone_ , no one complained too loudly.

“Dangerously intelligent, I’ve heard,” a gossiping nobleman said nearby.

A lady was facing him, fanning herself. “Fereldans say that about all of their mangy beasts.”

“They are not Fereldan,” the man answered. “Well, except for their Commander, of course. I have heard it even speaks!”

“Do not be ridiculous. Of course it cannot speak!”

Romulus began to laugh loudly, his face screwed up as the coughing sound reached the gossiping nobles, and Cullen chuckled at their expressions when they turned to find the source of the sound.

“Eugh, is it going to be sick? I think _I_ am, it stinks,” complained the noblewoman as she fanned herself again.

“There is no way you can smell it all the way over here, Annette. Besides, I believe it is… laughing. Perhaps it cannot speak, but it seems to understand us.” The man shifted uncomfortably. “It is probably for the best that we respect its status as Holy War Hound.”

Romulus quietly pouted at being demoted to a hound, and those standing around him began laughing. His tail thumped against the marble floor, and he grinned, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

Lupa climbed up the steps only moments later, and Romulus stood at Cullen’s side as she approached. There was something strange about the way she looked; Cullen could see her tattoos, but he felt like he was looking at them through a haze. Only half of them were strongly visible, and the eyes and little black spot under her nose were almost swimming.

“Maker, it’s _huge_ ,” the noblewoman stated, sounding incredulous.

“Stop staring, Annette. You don’t want it to feel threatened, do you? Imagine what those jaws could do to your throat.”

“So!” Varric stated as Lupa joined them. “This is just the Winter Palace? What’s the Summer One look like, I wonder? Seriously, did you get a look at the steps? I think they’re gilded.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “The sooner we can go in, the sooner we get this over with. And this dress uniform is preposterous,” she added, pulling at the bottom hem of her jacket. “Formal armour would have been better.”

“I need to have this jacket let out a little,” Cullen complained to himself, feeling the backs of his shoulders stretching taught as he crossed his arms. Lupa raised an eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat. “It will take some time to get our men into the Palace. I’ll alert you when we’re ready, Inquisitor,” he added quietly.

She nodded, ruffled behind one of Rom’s ears softly, telling him to join her as she looked for Solas. He wagged his tail as they disappeared.

“Shit,” Varric hissed under his breath, looking over his shoulder. “I just saw two dwarves from the Merchant’s Guild go inside. If anyone asks, I’m not here.”

“And exactly why would that be a problem?” Cassandra asked, lacking her usual venom reserved for the dwarf.

“Maybe I’ll write a book about it for you one day, Seeker,” he told her. “If you’re nice.”

Cassandra made a terribly disgusted noise, and Cullen bit back another chuckle.

Lupa had made her rounds, winking at Cullen as she caught his eye again. “I’m going in,” she warned them quietly, and they immediately made to follow her.

She spoke to Gaspard for only a moment outside the ballroom doors, and he led them in. Cullen sucked in an awed breath as he looked around the room.

The outer perimeter of the room served as a raised platform to view the sunken dancefloor. There was gilding on the walls, the supports, the ceilings, in the tiles and on the marble steps. A great golden chandelier was suspended in exactly the centre of the room, high above the heads of those who would be sweeping the dancefloor later.

The Empress was standing over the railing across the dancefloor from them, on the upper level; they lined up carefully on the landing before the final steps to the dancefloor across from her.

“And now presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. And accompanying him,” a man’s voice sounded from behind them, carrying across the hall, “Lady Inquisitor Capitoline Lavellan, and her Beast of War, Romulus. Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground!”

Varric snorted ahead of Cullen, and leaned subtly into Dorian’s elbow. “This guy writes better fiction than I do.”

The reader behind them continued, unaware of the interruption. “Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!”

Cullen hoped Lupa wouldn’t flinch at that.

 Dorian was continuing his conversation with Varric. “Did you see their faces?” he asked, voice no more than a hiss. “Priceless.”

“Accompanying the Inquisitor: Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena-”

Cassandra threw her head back and bellowed. “Get on with it!”

The reader paused for a second, before continuing cautiously. Dorian and Varric were trying unsuccessfully to swallow their laughter. “-Pentaghast, fourteenth cousin to the King of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, and Right Hand of the Divine.” There was a short pause. “Renowned author Varric Tethras.”Varric shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably. “Head of noble House Tethras, deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchant’s Guild.”

Another brief pause, and Dorian straightened his back noticeably. “Lord Dorian Pavus, member of the Circle of Vyrantium, son of Lord Magister Halward Pavus of Asariel.”

One last pause. “The Lady Inquisitor’s elven serving man and chief caretaker of her Beast of War, Solas.”

The four began to glide across the floor together, following Gaspard and Lupa to stand in front of the Empress Celene.

Cullen jumped a little when he heard his name called. “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.”

_If you say so,_ he thought venomously as he rocked lightly on his feet, waiting for the others to be introduced before moving.

“Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court,” the reader announced, and the hall buzzed suddenly with gossip. Cullen looked at her and saw a coy smile playing on her face; if he didn’t know her so well, though, he wouldn’t have noticed it. “Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition, and Left Hand of the Divine.”

Cullen had a sudden flashback to the day Josephine announced them both to Lupa’s father and Clanmates. He thought she had done a better job.

“And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”

The reader finally let his scroll roll shut with a _snap_ , and Cullen began to step, perfectly in time with the others, across the hall.

They took up places again behind those who had already been announced. Gaspard spoke from Lupa’s left.

“Cousin,” he nodded to the Empress, and then he nodded to the woman at the Empress’ right shoulder, standing back and in the shadows a little. “My dear sister.”

So this was Grand Duchess Florianne?

“Grand Duke,” Celene bowed regally. “We are always honoured when your presence graces our court.”

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene,” Gaspard answered. Cullen thought the man might just have a clear head, if he didn’t have the time of day to play this ridiculous Game. “We have business to conclude.”

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests,” Celene assured him calmly. Gaspard gave a slightly ridiculous bow, and then retreated, his back straight as he climbed the steps to his left and disappeared.

“Lady Inquisitor,” Celene spoke again, “we welcome you to the Winter Palace.” She turned just enough to draw attention over her shoulder, to her cousin. “Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

Florianne gave a bow, but her eyes did not leave the Empress. “What an unexpected pleasure,” she intoned as she straightened up, sounding like it certainly _was_ unexpected. “I was not aware that the Inquisition would be a part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor,” she added as she turned away.

Then it was just Celene up there, and Cullen almost groaned when she continued to speak. Maker, just how long could it possibly take? He could feel a headache starting, and he clenched his hands and flexed his arms to stop himself from reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” Celene said, waving a hand pathetically to emphasise her point.

“I am delighted to be here, Your Majesty,” Lupa answered immediately. He wondered how she was staying so calm. Even Romulus looked irritated, the fur on his back standing up ever so slightly.

“We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings.” Celene gestured dramatically at nothing in particular. “How do you find Halamshiral?”

“I have no words to suffice,” Lupa answered once again, her voice full of wonder. “Halamshiral has many beauties, and I could not do them justice.”

“Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well for the Inquisition,” Celene praised her, and Cullen thought of all the things Lupa hadn’t said. Perhaps she would be better at playing the Game than she thought.

Celene had a few final words for them, and then they dispersed. Cullen found an empty stretch of wall near a punch bowl that afforded a good view of the ballroom, and he settled in there, leaning casually against the wall as he watched.

He was surrounded by a small crowd within a quarter hour. At first, he thought they were just there for the punch bowl, until he overheard two of the women talking about him. He bit back a groan, and tried to look out past all the people (which now included one man).

“You must dance with me, Commander! You cannot stand about all evening,” asked one woman, for the fourth time.

“I’m afraid… not, thank you,” he answered again, a little tersely.

“Are you married, Commander?” This time it was the man, and Cullen briefly considered sending him after Dorian.

“No, but I am… already spoken for,” he informed him instead.

The man tutted. “Still single, then...”

Cullen sighed a little aggressively, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds as his head throbbed. He considered moving, but they would just follow him, like little ducklings behind their mother, wouldn’t they?

Her aura touched him, and his eyes snapped open again when he heard her voice. “Commander?”

“Inquisitor!” he answered immediately, straightening his back. He wondered if these nobles could take a hint.

“Have you seen anything unusual?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Not yet. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

She nodded, and then looked around at all the people gathered around him. Her expression was amused. “You seem to have gathered quite a following,” she observed. “Who _are_ all these people?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice a little desperate, “but they won’t leave me alone.”

She giggled high in her throat, but the sound was quiet. “Not enjoying all the attention, then?”

“Hardly,” he almost spat, and she raised her eyebrows at him. “Besides, yours-” he cleared his throat, his voice dropping an octave as he continued, “-yours is the only attention worth having.”

He saw two of the women immediately put their heads together, and the man was watching them like a vulture. But Lupa smiled warmly, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

She shuffled her feet a little nervously. “I don’t suppose you would… save a dance for me?” she asked, her head cocked lightly to the side.

“No, thank you,” he answered immediately, without thinking.

He watched her face fall, and his mind scrambled. “Oh,” she said simply before making to move along.

“No! I didn’t mean to-” he breathed a frustrated sigh, and she turned back to look at him again. “Maker’s breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m just rejecting it automatically,” he told her apologetically, throwing a loaded glance at the noblewoman who wouldn’t stop asking him. He thought about his lessons with Dorian, and how much he actually _was_ looking forward to dancing with her, but it was a secret that he had done such a thing, after all, and he couldn’t let her know until the time was right. “I’m not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls.”

The nobleman to his left snorted, and Cullen rolled his eyes as Lupa softened, nodding understandingly.

“We’ll talk later,” she told him warmly.

“I await your signal,” he answered. He wished he could keep her there next to him all night, but he knew better than to think that was a possibility.

“Can I get you a drink, Commander Cullen?” one of the women asked as soon as Lupa was gone, and he almost groaned again.

“No, thank you.” Maker, when would this end?

It seemed to go on forever. Bells clanged loudly at one point. Some servants came by to refill the punch bowl a few times, and he heard them whispering about fighting in the guest wing.

“Hope the Inquisitor makes it out. She’ll be the first elf tonight who does,” said one of them, and Cullen felt his chest tighten with worry.

He continued to watch the best he could with all the people milling around him.

“Smile, Commander!” called the woman who wouldn’t stop asking him to dance. “You’re so handsome when you smile!”

“He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t,” chimed in the man, and this time Cullen _did_ groan, pushing himself off the wall and stepping across the floor to lean over the railing. Apparently something interesting was happening on the dancefloor.

Lupa’s copper-gold hair flashed as she glided across the floor with the Grand Duchess. The other pairs were slowly giving up, standing off to the sides to watch them in awe. Just as he was starting to enjoy the show, he felt a hand grab one of his buttocks sharply, and he yelped, jumping.

“Did you just… grab my bottom?” he asked the nobleman incredulously.

“I just couldn’t help myself,” the man winked at him as the entire ballroom exploded into a roar of cheering and clapping. The Inquisitor was done her dance, and throwing loaded looks around the hall, searching for them.

Cullen walked around to meet her, careful to keep from fleeing the man who had been tailing him all night, standing between Josephine and Leliana as she approached them. She looked tired, but otherwise seemed to be fine.

“You’ll be the talk of the court for _months!_ ” Josephine exclaimed quietly. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“Oh, I’d happily do more dancing,” she answered, a little winded, “just not with Corypheus. No dances for him.”

Cullen almost laughed.

“I promise not to invite him to our next ball,” Josephine answered, a little confused.

“Were you just _dancing_ with Duchess Florianne? Did I see that right?” asked Leliana incredulously.

“More importantly, what happened in the servant’s quarters? I heard there was fighting,” Cullen asked, hoping to draw them back to the task at hand.

Josie nodded. “I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling.”

Lupa sighed, reaching up to rub the end of her ear. “The Grand Duchess tried to convince me that Gaspard is the traitor, but… I’m not sure I buy it.”

“Florianne and her brother are thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself,” Leliana confirmed.

“Then… the attack on the Empress _will_ happen tonight,” Cullen observed, and they all fell silent for a few seconds as his words sunk in.

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josephine finally stated with a slow shake of her head. “She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat.”

Leliana’s eyes were dangerously steeled. “Then perhaps we should let her die,” she offered calmly.

Lupa looked uncomfortable with the suggestion. “I… take it you have an idea, Leliana?”

“What Corypheus wants is chaos, no?” she asked, but didn’t wait for them to answer. “Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

Cullen found himself nodding. “And it doesn’t have to be Celene – she’s right,” he agreed.

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine was horrified.

“Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.”

Lupa was shaking her head, eyes closed, the tips of her fingers against her forehead. Cullen didn’t need to look at her to know the gears in her head were turning, processing all of the information she had gathered that they weren’t aware of yet. “I can’t decide this. Not yet.”

“Even indecision is a decision, Inquisitor,” Leliana informed her coldly. “What did Duchess Florianne tell you?”

“She said Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing,” Lupa answered immediately. “That he knows about the assassination.”

“Which could be a trap,” Cullen warned, his tone hesitant.

“Or a lead,” Josephine corrected. “Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues.”

“Then get me access,” Lupa ordered before looking at Cullen pointedly. They were the eyes of the Inquisitor, fire and steel, and he nodded professionally and respectfully to her when she continued. “In the meantime, get your people into position.”

“At once,” he responded. “Be careful, Inquisitor.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd in a matter of seconds.

They each went their own separate ways, and Cullen sent word to have his men gather discreetly before returning to his spot on the wall, making sure his backside was covered.

He had been standing, waiting, watching for about another half an hour when a terrified looking young elf girl with huge eyes walked up to him. “Are you… Commander Cullen?”

“Yes,” he answered, standing tall again, but keeping his back firmly against the wall. “Are you alright?”

“The Inquisitor sent me to find you. She said you would keep me safe,” the girl whispered, her large eyes glassy with fear.

“You can trust me,” he told her, and she nodded in thanks, settling in against the wall next to him. “What happened?”

“I am an idiot,” the elf answered. “Briala’s been playing us all.”

Well, that was an interesting development.

Celene seemed to be busy gathering herself, muttering with her handmaidens, shuffling papers around. It looked to Cullen like she was preparing a speech of some sort. Was Lupa going to make it back in time? Maker, did something happen to her? Would she be making it back at _all_?

It had been perhaps another half an hour, maybe longer, when Celene took her place at the head of the ballroom, the same spot she had been when they had been greeted by her at the beginning of the night. Cullen spotted Florianne and Gaspard across the hall, looking uncomfortable and staring at a spot somewhere off to his right. He stepped out to find Lupa standing there glaring at them, still in her armour, with her staff planted into the floor. Her glamour was gone, and her tattoos stood out strongly, inciting whispers from those around her.

Cullen jogged up to her, pushing someone out of the way. She had blood on her leg, but it looked to be drying, along with a few light scratches across one cheek. She was panting heavily, but somehow was managing to keep herself from looking as winded as she was.

“Thank the Maker you’re back!” be breathed, not bothering to hide his relief. “I think the Empress plans to begin her speech soon. What should we do?”

“Wait here, _da’mi_ ,” she told him, her voice sharp as the edge of a blade. “I’m going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.”

“What?” he asked in disbelief as Lupa brushed past him, walking carefully to hide a limp. “There’s no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment!” And what in the Maker’s name had she just called him?

Solas appeared out of nowhere, and Romulus wove his way quickly through the crowd to find her side again. She was descending to the dancefloor, near the main doors back out to the Vestibule. Whispers were following her now, not just because of her tattoos and armour, but because she was stepping into territory she didn’t belong in.

Florianne was on the opposite end of the hall, on the raised platform right beneath the Empress, flanked by Briala and Gaspard. She had her back to the dancefloor, and didn’t see Lupa and Rom approaching.

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace,” Lupa called strongly, loudly, drawing the undivided attention of everyone in the ballroom.

Cullen was glad to have found a spot on the railing to lean on already, as everyone surged to look at the same time.

Florianne did not turn around right away. “Inquisitor,” she acknowledged once she did, her chin held high.

“The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace,” Lupa told her dangerously, gesturing widely around the room. Cullen could only see her back, but knew she would be smirking confidently, one of the blue eyes on her cheekbones scrunching at the tug of the corner of her mouth. “Remember to smile.”

“I would _not_ want to be on her bad side,” muttered a woman somewhere behind Cullen. It sounded like one of the women who had been harassing him earlier.

“Best keep your hands to yourself, then, Erin,” said another, unfamiliar female voice. “Hate to see what would happen if you try to get between her and her _paramour_. Maybe she’ll set her beast on you.”

Cullen smiled despite himself, turning his attention back to the floor.

Lupa was in the middle of ascending the steps to the raised platform, and Florianne was backpedalling gracefully. “After all,” Lupa’s voice rang out, bouncing off the gold and marble that decorated the room, “this is your party. You wouldn’t want them to think you’d lost control.”

The Grand Duchess tipped her chin down, now, as if expecting Lupa to go for her throat. “Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Her voice was high, and just a tiny bit shaky.

Romulus stood at his full height in front of her, his hackles raising. Lupa stopped when she reached the top step. It was hard to see, but Cullen thought she had cocked her head to the side, as if she were curious about something. “I seem to recall you saying, ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike,’” she intoned almost musically, as if it was a question.

Florianne did not respond.

Lupa pulled her hands behind her back as she began to pace. Romulus held his ground, keeping Florianne from trying to escape. “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance,” Lupa continued, sounding hurt. She began to circle around Florianne, who turned to follow her movement only until she remembered the snarling wolf in front of her. There was whispering starting around Cullen again, but it was still low enough that he could make out what was happening. “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council emissary. It was an ambitious plan: Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…” she was counting them off on her fingers, her voice barely affected. “All your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining,” Florianne finally answered, but once again, her voice was high, and her fear was poorly concealed. The whispering around Cullen grew as she was exposed, and he found it difficult to hear the rest of the conversation on the floor. “You do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?”

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, Cousin,” snarled Celene.

Florianne stopped as if the words had hit her physically, and then turned quickly to her brother, her voice desperate and pleading. “Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never…Gaspard?”

He had turned away, following Briala up the steps to Lupa and Floriannes’ left, where two chevaliers were descending to detain her.

Florianne was backpedalling again, and Romulus slunk behind her, stopping her in her tracks with a snarl and a snap. She stumbled, tripping over her own feet, going down onto her knees in a puff of heavy skirts.

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace,” Lupa spat out, power rolling from her in great waves and filling the entire room, silencing the shower of whispers that had surrounded them in an instant. “You were just the last to find out.”

Romulus moved out of the way only when the chevaliers surrounded Florianne, and everyone stood in silence as she was taken away.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Lupa called when the Duchess was gone, “I think we should speak. In private.”

It was not a request, or a suggestion, but an order, and even the Empress would not disrespect her after such a show. The crowd dispersed, and the volume in the Grand Ballroom reaching deafening from the loud, excited conversation that erupted.

Cullen stayed where he was as the people around him slowly thinned out, many going to stand on the marble dancefloor. Dorian came to stand at his side just as the Empress and Briala emerged with Lupa from one of the balconies, preparing for another speech.

“There you are!” Cullen hissed at him. “Where have you been all this time?”

“You mean aside from killing my countrymen and staining the marble with their blood?” Dorian asked sarcastically, voice dropping to a whisper as the Empress began to speak. “I was drinking, if you must know. Did you try the ham? Tastes of despair.”

Cullen found himself laughing.

“And I must tell you, Commander, that I’m very hurt,” Dorian continued. “There is a rather loudspoken noble across the room telling everyone who will listen that he got a handful of your ass.” Dorian turned to Cullen and gave him the saddest puppy eyes he could muster. “I even asked _nicely,_ and you never let _me_ grab your ass. It’s because I’m from Tevinter, isn’t it?”

Cullen rolled his eyes dramatically. “You’re lucky I didn’t send him to find you. I seriously considered it.”

“Perish the thought,” Dorian scoffed. “Though I’m glad you didn’t – he is far too arrogant. He would clash terribly with my humble personality.”

Cullen laughed again, trying not to make too much noise as the speeches came to a close.

“Hey, Curly,” Varric called as the celebrations continued around them, “what’s this I’m hearing about you proposing to half a dozen noblewomen and two noblemen? The Inquisitor’s going to kill you.”

“Andraste preserve me,” Cullen swore.

“I thought it was already well-known that the Commander was tonight’s prize?” Dorian asked the dwarf.

“Speaking of prizes,” Varric muttered, leaning in to Cullen’s elbow, “I have a feeling I know where you can find yours.”

Cullen followed Varric’s line of sight, spotting a woman in dark velvet leaving through a door to one of the balconies.

“The Empress’ ‘occult advisor,’” Varric told him before he could ask. “Her name’s Morrigan. Leliana knows her – apparently they travelled together during the Blight.”

Cullen took a deep breath and froze. His stomach had exploded into nervous butterflies as he suddenly recalled the image of Lupa gliding gracefully across the dancefloor with the Duchess, as if she had been performing those dances every day of her life. There was no way he’d be able to keep up with her if she tried something like that with him.

“I did not deprive myself of sleep and brandy for two weeks for you to choke _now_ , Cullen,” Dorian scolded him. “If you do not go _this instant_ , I will drag you there myself.”

Cullen took a deep breath and left them, trying to make his way across the room as quickly but unhurriedly as he could.

“You have such beautiful hair, Commander,” said one of the women who’d been harassing him all night, stepping out in front of him to block his path. She was clearly drunk by this point, barely able to stay on her feet just standing.

Cullen sighed aggressively. “Thank you,” he bit out.

“And your eyes!” she continued. “Commander, has anyone ever told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?”

“Several times this evening, actually,” he snapped. “If you’ll excuse me, I have urgent business to conclude with the Inquisitor.”

He pushed past her, not waiting for her to get out of the way, and by the time he reached the door to the balcony, Morrigan was leaving. He watched her go hesitantly, even as she looked at him like a hawk eyeing its prey.

He took one more steadying breath as he saw Lupa leaning against the bannister of the balcony, looking weary, her leg still crusted with blood. Romulus was grabbing a quick nap in the corner, his chest expanding and collapsing slowly.

“There you are,” Cullen stated to announce his presence. Lupa turned to look over her shoulder at him as he walked to her; she was wearing a set of robes that resembled Warden armour, though it was coloured in silvers and reds, with a howling wolf on her shoulder instead of the griffon. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment.” His point was contradicted by a rather riotous bout of laughter near the balcony doors. “Are you alright?”

He bent to mimic her stance, leaning his forearms on the bannister, their shoulders touching. She leaned to look at him again, and he was struck by how exhausted she looked. She shook her head slowly. “I’m just worn out,” she admitted quietly. “Tonight has been… very long.”

“For all of us,” he told her, thinking of those stupid nobles again. “I’m glad it’s over.”

Lupa didn’t answer, instead looking back out over the edge of the balcony. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder gently, and she reached up to put hers over his briefly as he spoke again. “I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” It elicited a brief smile from her.

The rowdy group outside inside the balcony doors moved, and the music from inside drifted out over them instead. Cullen smirked, and finally removed his hand from her shoulder.

“I may never have another opportunity like this, so I must ask,” he started, and she watched him step back, behind her, with a raised eyebrow and curious smirk. He bent at the waist, holding out a hand palm-up at her. He cleared his throat, feeling a little ridiculous and more than a little nervous, but he somehow kept his smile in place as he asked, “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

Her entire face brightened as she beamed at him, immediately straightening up and placing her hand in his. Cullen’s nerves disappeared as his smile grew and he slowly pulled her in, using an arm around her waist to bring her closer, the other clasping her free hand at their sides, fingers twining. “I thought you didn’t dance?” she asked, her usual mischief creeping into her voice again.

Cullen was sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest as he looked at her there and took the first tentative step. She followed him, seeming content to go along with the simple steps he was familiar with, and he thought in that moment that he might really, truly love her.

“For you,” he answered, voice low and quiet, “I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do this from a different perspective than Lupa's, because we all play that part. Here's hoping it's not a totally boring retell. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and please don't be afraid to give any feedback! If you don't want to comment publicly, I'm also /u/theRadioStarr on Reddit - you can send me a PM there. And if you have a Reddit account, /r/Cullenmancers would like to welcome you to our happy, crazy family.


	33. Were the Demons Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not very productive. 
> 
> Very NSFW.

They were about a week out from Halamshiral, and just shy of a week away from the Approach.

Cullen found himself feeling like the stepfather in the big, confusing family that was the Inquisitor’s inner circle of companions (if only because Lupa was like their mother). They were such a strange, loud dynamic: someone always talking over another, others somehow finding something to drink on the road, one person always looking down their nose at the rest while they all vied for Lupa’s undivided attention.

He was happy to simply enjoy the ride, and let her join him when she was ready. Usually it wasn’t until after dinner was on the fire and camp was set.

It was no different tonight.

She had gone out with Varric again, and collapsed next to Cullen when her dance was complete. He had grown used to it now, but he still enjoyed watching her.

They discussed professional matters for a time, and then talked nonsense for a time as well, joking and laughing with the others as wild tales were shared.

Cullen was the first to retire; his armour was in need of some serious attention, and he wanted to do that away from the fire.

His tent had been his own again for the past week. He didn’t exactly enjoy it, and his sleep was still poor, but it couldn’t be helped – she was trying to hold up at least _some_ semblance of professionalism, or he assumed she was, as she would surely have just joined him otherwise.

When he had settled down with his oils and his armour, he went to work, starting with his breastplate and letting his mind wander. Their time on the road had been mostly uneventful, but they had closed a good number of Rifts along the way. Cullen had joined Lupa for the fight many times, and he found himself recounting those memories in a strangely fond light.

He had moved on to his pauldrons and greaves as he carefully broke down the way she moved as her staff spun and called forth lightning, a quick dispel taking care of a Terror while a Fade boulder smashed at a Pride. He thought about the way she would stand with her feet spread, hand stretched toward the Rift as she struggled with it, her every ounce oozing strength and power. The way she would turn to smile at him widely, a little breathlessly, with flushed cheeks when the battle was over and they could go back to the horses. She usually had some hair escaping from her carefully tied coif, spiralling around her face and covering one of the eyes on her forehead until she could repin them back into place.

Lately they would be the last to retire; she would set up wards around their camp and then they would share a slow, passionate kiss goodnight while the others weren’t there to see them. Two nights ago, Lupa had grabbed the sides of his shirt and tried to drag him back to her tent, but he had stopped her, panicked, and told her he needed to go to bed.

She had been carefully keeping her distance since then.

What was truly so terrifying about her? Nothing at all. His problems didn’t stem from her, but from a lack of understanding when it came to her actually wanting to give him anything. Every time she let her hands wander, he held his breath, waiting for her still pond blues to flash Desire purple, and he couldn’t bear even the thought of it.

He would try to hold her hand, and she would gently pull it back. He would try to explain, and then choke on the words, realizing how ridiculous he sounded, how immature, and he decided he needed to get over this on his own.

So he was alone, in his tent, polishing his armour while he daydreamed about kissing her.

Just the thought of her lips against his was enough to set his heart pounding, and he finished with his greaves hastily, placing them carefully on the opposite side of the tent before taking in a deep, steadying breath and getting ready for bed. Maker, what he wouldn’t give to have her with him again – not only because he slept better with her there, but because he craved her company in more ways than one.

Naturally, once he got into bed, his overactive imagination began to spin uncontrollably. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep until he dealt with his growing desire.

He closed his eyes, the image of her suspended in his old farmstead surfacing immediately, and he felt his groin go taut instantly. He could hear her pleading, begging already, and he reached out to trace the lines of her tattoos on her stomach, his real hands tracing the same lines along his own abdomen under his blankets, making him shiver as he passed his navel.

Lupa shuddered and swore behind his eyelids, and he slid his hand further, until he could grasp himself firmly. He made a small noise at the contact, and he could almost hear the chesty moan she would give.

He pulled on himself slowly, a few strokes, just enough for the extra skin to pull back and expose his swollen head and a bead of fluid to form at the slit there. He thumbed it away, using it to wet himself a little, and continued as he saw her hands being let free in his mind; she dragged her nails softly down his chest and he mimicked the motion, his back arching as his hips rocked into his hand.

Her aura surrounded him, and he made another noise, giving himself one more pull before he suddenly realized that it was _real_ , not imagined, and he opened his eyes to see her reforming from a Fade step. He felt his eyes go wide as he let go of himself as if he’d been shocked.

He was panting heavily, his breathing short and shallow as she turned around to look at him. She was in the same sleeping clothes she had brought along for their trip to Honnleath: a white sleeveless undershirt and a pair of soft beige cotton pants. She cast a half dozen small orbs of soft blue light, and he learned just how thin her shirt was. He could see almost right through it, the colour of her tattoos faint, the dark red of her puckered nipples standing out starkly, and he groaned needily as he closed his eyes tight with shame.

“Well, this is interesting,” she stated lightly, voice no more than a whisper. He opened one eye to peek at her, and saw her touch the canvas wall of the tent with her fingertips softly. Her aura stretched again, and the tent walls glowed faintly. Her voice was at a normal volume when she continued, and Cullen felt himself flushing a very deep shade of red at her words. “I decided to give in and come over here looking for a little… help, only to find out my lover has taken matters into his own hand. After refusing to let _me_ help _him_ , I might add. You do know I’m more than willing to reciprocate?”

“Lupa!” he hissed. “The others will hear you!” Andraste’s tits, he was _mortified_. He would be happy if a fissure opened beneath him and swallowed him whole.

“No they won’t,” she assured him, tapping the wall of the tent again with a knuckle. “A useful little enchantment Dorian invented. We can hear out, but they won’t be able to hear in. Watch-” She sucked in a great gulp of air and shouted, as loudly as she could, “Varric’s a dirty nug-licker!”

Cullen’s ears were ringing, but he knew that Varric would have responded in some way had he heard; instead, the only sounds were the buzzing of the bugs outside.

“See?” she continued after a few seconds of near-silence with a wag of her brows. “Nothing to worry about.”

Cullen sighed, getting a little desperate without some sort of touch. He was twitching, his groin muscles clenching uncomfortably, forcing his hips to curl slowly against his will.

“Cullen, really…” she was moving to kneel next to him, but she was careful not to touch him. He turned away from her, his eyes squeezing shut again, but it did very little good – he could still see her behind his eyelids, and he whimpered pathetically in response.

She sighed. “Why won’t you let me help? You can’t just give and give and give all the time, Cullen. You don’t need to do this yourself.”

Cullen took a deep breath to try to steady himself, and then he tried to gather his scrambled thoughts. He kept his eyes closed as he answered. “I – I don’t know. I suppose-”

“It’s… that Desire, isn’t it?” she asked sadly.

Maker, he felt pathetic. Still terrified of the contact, over ten years later. She wasn’t wrong, and that somehow made it worse. “That is… mostly it,” he admitted, feeling the tension in his groin lessening, grateful for the moment to have more blood in his brain so he could think clearly.

He had never thought this whole thing could be such a barrier between them. Ever since that first time she had reached for his waistband, he had started to panic every time her hands wandered too low. He was more than happy and willing to help her with her needs, but he just…couldn’t let her near him. It ate at him when he thought about it, guilt blossoming in the pit of his stomach, telling himself that _next time_ , he would swallow his fear and enjoy it.

He was doing terribly on that last part.

“You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t let another living soul touch you since then,” Lupa prodded softly, and Cullen finally looked at her. She was desperately trying to understand, and he steeled himself for an explanation. This time, he would _not_ choke.

“No…” he sighed. There was no way to tell her his history without it being uncomfortable, but he owed it to her. Maybe it would even help him get over… whatever this was. “My… first time was when I was still in training. It was awful,” he told her, and she looked disbelieving. “Well, not awful, but not what I pictured, not what I wanted. A moment of letting our bodies take control, instead of our hearts. Anyway,” he cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “I graduated training about a year after that, and was sent to Kinloch Hold, and there was no one, nothing, until – well, you know.”

She nodded at him to continue.

“Then I was sent to Kirkwall. She was there, and until I was promoted to Knight-Captain, we would… meet regularly. Maybe I thought we could make something of it, but it was always cold, clinical, a mutual meeting of needs and nothing more, and when I think back on it, it was incredibly one-sided. It was difficult even then, but she already… knew me, so it was bearable.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve never shared a mutual intimate experience with someone who actually cares for you? You’ve basically been… conditioned and trained this way. And of course there’s a dash of sexual assault on top of that,” she clarified.

“You somehow manage to make it sound even more pathetic than it is,” he muttered. “A grown man, afraid of intimacy.”

“That is far more common an affliction than you would think,” she answered soothingly, but somehow it just made him feel worse. “I find it interesting that your fears are entirely one-sided as well… You know, Cullen, that the only way to put this behind you is to push yourself past your obstacle. You’d be amazed at how different it is between lovers. And one of these days, you’re going to need to learn to take what you need, instead of only giving others what _they_ need.”

He closed his eyes tightly. “How did…”

“How did I get past it?” she asked after a moment of silence, and he nodded, eyes still closed.

“I found a man who loved me, and demanded that he show me the truth,” she answered calmly. He looked at her again finally, and she was staring at him warmly, worriedly. He wished he knew what he’d done to deserve such an outstanding woman, especially after the dishonourable things he’d just had to recount for her. Of course she made it sound so _simple_ , why hadn’t he been able to see it?

“I would be happy to help you, _da’mi_ ,” she continued softly, a hand finding his bicep, “but only when you feel you are ready. Until then, I’ll go back to my own tent and give you your space.”

“No!” he almost shouted. He could do this, was _sure_ he could do this, and if she left now, he would never get the resolve back again. He needed it, so badly. “Please, Lupa.”

She smiled at him and leaned down for a kiss. It started soft, but he parted his lips against hers, and it quickly became scorching as their tongues brushed together. When she flipped his blankets off of him impatiently, he didn’t stop her.

Heat was spreading back to his groin and he let Lupa go, his hands falling to his sides, balled up tight. He scrunched his eyes closed and tipped his head back, breathing like a cornered animal as Lupa’s contact seemed to disappear from him.

He was left lying there, exposed, his resolve crumbling for about ten seconds before he felt her tongue brushing against swollen head, collecting another bead of fluid that had formed.

He jerked and his eyes flew open, a hand reaching down to grab her shoulder strongly enough that she might bruise. It felt _incredible_ , just that tiny little touch, but it wasn’t what he had expected.

“Shit, Cullen, I’m so sorry, did I completely misread you?” she asked immediately, concerned.

“Maker, no-”

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, sitting back on her heels.

The sight of her kneeling there between his knees made him groan, and she raised an eyebrow at him again. “Is the sensation not enjoyable?”

“It _is_ -”

“Then why stop me? Is this another one of the Chantry’s stupid stereotypes?” she asked calmly, and he almost laughed.

Almost.

“No, it’s more-” It was difficult to think again, and piecing together the words was agony. “The Templars, the – abusive ones in Kirk – Kirkwall – they would make the mages-”

“Did you demand this from me as a price to spare me from some terrible fate, Cullen?”

“No,” he told her begrudgingly after a moment.

She traced a finger along the underside of his hard length, and he shuddered. That tiny little stroke made him realize that all his imagining had come nowhere close to what her hands actually felt like. “Then why should I stop? I’ll gladly do it for you. Just relax,” she told him with a light giggle. “If you really don’t enjoy it, then let me know, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, I’m going to continue.”

And she did. He watched her flick her tongue out and flatten it, dragging in along the same path as her fingertip, and when she reached the tip of him, she slowly took him into her mouth and sucked.

He made some noise, not quite sure if it was a moan, groan, or growl as he threw his head back, but _Maker_ , why had he been so afraid of this? She was no demon – or maybe she was, the way her tongue was swirling, but when he looked down and caught her eyes again, they were her own. Her mouth was so warm and wet; he could feel her teeth scraping along him as she increased the suction, pulling all the extra air out of her mouth, taking as much of him as she could and holding the rest of him in a hand magically warmed just enough.

Cullen squirmed under her, his breathing erratic. He had no idea what to do with his hands, but she grabbed one and placed it on the back of her head, and it instantly clamped into her hair, pulling hard.

She rewarded him with a deep moan of her own, and the vibration rocked through him, making him buck into her; she placed a hand firmly on the top of his hip to try to hold him down some, and she laughed with him still in her mouth, sending any thought that might have been in his head scattering.

He could feel the heat growing, everything going almost painfully tight with his mounting pleasure, he was so _close_ -

“Lupa,” he called, somehow, and she let him go with a quiet _pop_. She replaced her mouth with her other hand, sitting back to watch him, and he bucked back into her grip, no longer concerned about harming her. He could barely breathe, every muscle stretching taut and tense. “Maker, Lupa, I – _oh Maker-_ ”

He came, hard, spilling himself over her hands and onto his stomach, the fluid hot and sticky. She continued to stroke him, her grip becoming gentle as he jerked erratically into her hands a few more times.

Lupa let him go as he collapsed, his limbs like jelly. He was panting heavily again, feeling hot all over, barely able to keep his eyes open. He felt Lupa reaching across one of his thighs, and then there was fabric wiping away his mess.

He opened his eyes to see Lupa licking up a stray spot she had missed, and he shivered again.

“So,” she asked him, sitting back again, “was that as terrible as you expected?”

He held his hands out for her, and she flattened out against his chest, her head sitting just under his chin. He was familiar with the usual surge of emotional warmth he felt after such an event, but it was almost overwhelming this time. He understood now what she meant when she said it was different between two people who actually cared. “That was – _Maker,_ I don’t even have words-”

“Do you feel better?”

 _Did_ he feel better? Like everything terrible that had happened was behind him? Like he could finally move on and be… healthy again?

“I may need some more convincing,” he told her, but he was smiling, and it carried in his voice.

“Good,” she laughed, “because I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself. Creators, Cullen, you don’t know how arousing it is to see you finally letting go.”

He growled low, suddenly very awake again. Had she not come here looking for help with release of her own?

He kissed her, and he could taste himself, salty on her tongue still. He wanted to wash it away with _her_ taste, so much sweeter than his own, but when his hands wandered, she pulled back and stopped him.

“I am rescinding my request,” she told him firmly. “You need to learn to _take_ , _da’mi_ , and this will be lesson one. Go to sleep,” she told him softly and rolled onto her side, settling into the hollow of his shoulder and draping a leg over his.

“What does that mean? Da’mi?” he asked. He had been meaning to find out since she had said it in the Winter Palace, but it slipped his mind.

“‘Little Blade,’” she answered, giggling when he pouted. “What? It’s better than _mon chou_ – the Orlesians call their loved ones _cabbages_. I think being called a blade is significantly better.”

Cullen laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He rolled over her and reached for his sleeping pants, and she gave him a moment to wiggle into them before touching the fabric of the tent again, making the faint glow disappear, and extinguishing the lights on the ceiling.

He laughed again quietly, feeling himself drifting away, remembering their night together in Honnleath. “Lupa?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” he managed.

He fell asleep to the feeling of her laughing against his side.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa laid awake for a long time after Cullen passed out.

She had never seen him sleep so deeply before. He was like an immovable rock, but she was comfortable, and thankfully didn’t need to move him.

She couldn’t believe they had gone all this time without her understanding just how badly that Desire had damaged him. One other woman, another Templar, and only because they had a history; it sounded like he never enjoyed it, like the other woman was demanding and he just took what he could get from her, if it meant he could stop doing it himself.

And yet, he had been content to do it himself instead of letting her help? Even after she had made it more than clear that she wanted to?

Surprisingly, she wasn’t bitter about it. She still remembered that year or so after Dane had decided to test his luck; her biggest fear had been getting to the point of sharing that intimacy with someone else and reliving the horror, even if she felt that she wanted it, or that she would always just see it as an evil thing and never enjoy it like it was supposed to be enjoyed. Had she not had Owain, she might have thought exactly that for the rest of her life.

She was happy to see that Cullen had gathered his strength. Maybe he had only put a dent in the wall, or maybe he had crashed through it in one heavy blow, she wasn’t sure, but it had been progress, and by the Creators, if she still wasn’t wound up from it an hour later…

Lupa slowed her breathing, taking long, deep breaths to try to calm herself enough that she could sleep, too. It took about another half an hour, but she finally managed to fall asleep.

_She drifted through the Fade for a while, uninterrupted but conscious of the formless world around her, as she always was. She could feel Cullen close by; she always did, now, after all the times she had sought him out on her travels._

_He felt peaceful, contented, maybe not dreaming at all for once. It would be a nice change for him, and she left him alone for most of the night._

_She knew it must have been hours later, but it felt like only minutes, when Cullen began dreaming. She had every intention of staying out of it until she felt the panic or anger that usually signified a nightmare, but he seemed to bleed into her, and she found herself in his dream anyway._

_He had an arm under her knees, and another across her back, holding her close as they passed beneath the vines at the front entry to the old Rutherford farmstead. She felt rings on her left hand to mirror her right, and she smiled at him, snaking her arms around his neck to kiss him._

_The moment they connected, the dream shifted, and they were in the old family room. Cullen was stepping out from the kitchen with a plate of food, and Lupa sat forward on the couch, her swollen belly stopping her from seeing her feet, where she could feel Romulus curled up peacefully. She placed a hand on the top of her stomach and sat back as he chastised her, telling her to rest._

_He reached up to brush some hair out of her face, and the scene shifted again behind him; there were two children laughing loudly in the living room. A young boy was making it snow, while a little girl brushed out Rom’s coat for him, both curly haired and fair skinned, one blonde, the other copper-gold. Cullen shook his head and cleared the floor of the crunchy ice that had built up, his Templar abilities just strong enough to deal with a young mage boy who clearly took after his mother._

_Then they were out in the fields behind the house, the four of them sparring together; they were all proficient with a blade, and their son and daughter would fight together frequently. They were both masters of magic: their son in wielding it, and their daughter in fighting it._

_Then they were back in the farmstead, and there were grandchildren, a half a dozen of them, running around and laughing and screaming. Lupa could feel herself beaming with pride, and Cullen placed an arm around her shoulders on the couch. He was getting old, his hair mostly white now, the lines around his eyes more pronounced and accompanied by laugh lines and forehead wrinkles. Lupa wondered what she looked like._

_She placed her head into the hollow of his neck and closed her eyes as the sounds of laughter left her and the predawn quiet of the waking world claimed her._

Lupa blinked slowly, wondering where such a strangely pleasant dream had come from, when she felt him stirring. She gathered her elbow underneath her and used the arm draped over his chest to hoist herself up to get a good look at him.

He was looking at her sleepily. “Good morning,” he grumbled pleasantly, and the roughness of his voice brought her heated desire from the night before flooding back to her.

“If you tell me that was another night terror, I’m going to be very disappointed,” she told him very seriously, and he stared at her with raised eyebrows for a full fifteen seconds before roughly pulling her down for a kiss.

His hands instantly reached under her shirt to rip it off, but he stopped and pulled back for a moment, staring at her neckline. “Am I allowed to touch you again, or am I still learning?” he asked teasingly in a whisper.

“Creators, Cullen, I don’t even know how I managed to fall asleep,” she answered, and he wasted no time in pulling her shirt the rest of the way off before flipping her over onto her back.

Lupa reached her hand out to touch the tent again, trying to gather her aura around her to soundproof it, but he grabbed her hands and then scooted her down so she couldn’t reach it. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he told her in a hiss. “I think you should just be quiet.”

She shivered, her pulse throbbing behind her navel and between her legs. “As you say, Commander.”

He growled at her, reaching down to loosen the drawstring on her pants before ripping them off, too, tossing them across the room to meet her discarded shirt. She wished he would get rid of _his_ pants, that they could do this properly, but he left them on as he settled between her knees, not unlike the way she had the night before. She watched as he let his hand slide across her bundle of nerves, between her folds, and then he pressed two fingers easily into her core.

Lupa arched and gave a short, clipped moan. He took his hand back, and shook his head at her.

“I thought you were going to be quiet?” he hissed at her again, and she quivered.

“Excuse me for finding that a little difficult,” she retorted, and he shook his head again, his dry hand coming to cover her mouth as he continued.

She moaned and arched again when she felt his hands inside her once more, but the sound was muffled almost to nothing against his broad, rough palm. She sucked in a shaky breath; since he hadn’t been able to clean his hands the night before, she could smell the remnants of him there, making her whimper again.

Lupa could hear the sounds of fabric rustling outside, logs being thrown onto the fire, quiet good mornings being said by her companions, but it all seemed a world away. His fingertips curled against her and he slid them in and out of her gently, making her shake and pant, and even his hand was having a hard time masking her noises when he bent to clamp his teeth around one of her nipples.

There were footsteps approaching the tent, and Lupa held her breath to keep quiet as Cullen went perfectly still and let her breast go, staring at her a little wide-eyed.

“Commander?” Cassandra’s voice sounded once the footsteps stopped right outside the closed tent flap. “Are you decent? May I come in to speak with you?”

“Now is not an opportune time, Cassandra,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.

“I see,” she answered. “I was just hoping to ask if you knew where the Inquisitor was. Romulus just joined us and told us she wasn’t with him this morning.”

Cullen sighed and looked at Lupa apologetically. “The Inquisitor will be out in a minute,” he told her.

“She will – oh. I am… sorry to interrupt.” She must have stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, because her retreating footsteps couldn’t be heard right away.

They could hear a chorus of laughter from the direction of the fire.

“I told you, Seeker,” Varric’s voice drifted over to them as Lupa let out her pent-up breath and stretched to soundproof the tent.

This time Cullen didn’t stop her, instead bending back to run his tongue against her slit, up to her swollen nerve bundle, and she cried out loudly this time, seeing the faint glow of the tent.

She was a shuddering, sopping mess on his tent floor only moments later, melting into it as the tension left her body, trying to get her breath back.

“You!” Cassandra’s voice sounded. “You could have _told_ me, you mangy mutt! I was worried, and she was – they’re-”

The group was roaring again, and Cullen and Lupa joined them in the tent, Cullen leaning over Lupa and burying his face in the hollow of her neck as they laughed together.

“Well it’s a good thing she thought to ask if you were decent first,” Lupa finally managed to say, and Cullen rolled off of her, nodding.

She watched him reach over to the corner where his armour was stored neatly. “You know, that’ll have them talking.”

Cullen sighed. “And you wouldn’t believe how quickly gossip spreads. At least we don’t have any soldiers with us now, but just one comment around them, and it’ll be through the barracks faster than wildfire.”

He looked a little uncomfortable with the idea. “Does it bother you?” she prodded.

“I would prefer that my – _our_ – private affairs remain that way,” he told her. Never mind that everyone was already more than aware of their relationship. Maybe he simply meant the intimacy? In that regard, she could understand where he was coming from. “But…” he turned to look at her again. “If there were nothing here for people to talk about, I think I would regret it more.”

Lupa reached out for her shirt and pants, pulling them on quickly. “How are you feeling?” she asked when she was done.

He was already almost done himself, only missing his breastplate and mantle. He was quiet for a few seconds, adjusting his gloves before answering. “I feel… I’m not sure how to say it, but it’s amazing.”

Lupa smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. “So if I’m available and you’re starting to feel restless…”

“I think you’ve created a monster,” he told her, holding a hand out to help her stand and then pulling her close, pressing them together tightly.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll get all of you, hm?” she suggested.

“Not in a tent, you won’t,” he replied, heavy with suggestion.

Lupa shook her head slowly. Already she was gaining her strength back, and her pulse was still a little quick. Too many more comments like that, and they wouldn’t be getting _anywhere_ today.

“Okay, I’m going before we get any more carried away,” she announced, brushing the tent wall again to dismiss the enchantment.

“Wait,” he told her, and rummaged through his pack for a relatively clean shirt. “Put this on. I can see right through yours.”

She pulled it on and gave him a quick peck before taking a deep breath and leaving the tent.

“The Conquered emerges!” Dorian called out, and Lupa could feel the heat reaching her face.

“Shut it, you.”

“It can’t’ve _actually_ taken him this long to figure out how it works, even _he’s_ not that daft,” Sera commented to no one in particular. She seemed to be wondering how everyone thought this was a big deal.

“I am sorry, Capitoline, I had no idea – none of us saw you leave your tent last night-” Cassandra was just as red as Lupa was.

“Perhaps we can get back to preparing for the day, my dears.”

Lupa found a seat around the fire, sitting cross-legged in the dirt, and Romulus slunk over to rest his head on her knees. She stroked the crown of his head as Bull handed her a stale piece of bread with a slap to the back of her shoulder.

“And here is the Conqueror!” Lupa rolled her eyes as Dorian invited Cullen into their circle with a flourish. “Looking far better rested than he has in quite some time. Perhaps the Conquered did some conquering of her own?”

Lupa just shook her head as Dorian winkled at her and the group laughed again.

“Well?” Dorian asked, looking back at Cullen pointedly.

Cullen looked at Lupa, almost questioningly, and she grinned back at him.

“That enchantment of yours works perfectly.”

Bull and Dorian both laughed, and Dorian smacked his breastplate. “Good man!”

“I am going to go get ready, before I die of embarrassment,” Lupa told them all as she stood and made her way back to her own tent, their warm, kind laughter following her all the way.

They were on the road again an hour later. Lupa rode slowly at the back of the group, happily having a moment to herself. Even Cullen had another riding partner today; Blackwall had engaged him in a highly technical conversation regarding arms and equipment, and they were chatting away happily ahead of her.

At one point, Cassandra dropped back to join her, letting them get far enough behind that their voices wouldn’t carry. “I want to apologize again for this morning, Capitoline,” she started. Cassandra was the only one who still called her that regularly, but Lupa didn’t mind. It was, after all, her official public name.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “Honestly, I’m sure it was more uncomfortable for you than it was for me.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Cassandra answered with a short huff of a laugh. “A part of me feels like I should warn you against this, but the greater part of me is terribly happy for the both of you. If we cannot find love in this world, then what is there to save?”

Lupa looked at Cassandra for a moment. She was staring straight ahead, her back straight but relaxed as her horse stepped carefully. She always forgot that the Seeker was almost old enough to be her mother.

“Thank you,” Lupa finally murmured, and Cassandra turned to look at her.

“I have been meaning to ask you…” Cassandra swallowed a little nervously, glancing at the group ahead of them quickly before continuing. “I know it is a long time gone, now, but how was your trip to Honnleath?”

Lupa smiled. She knew exactly what the Seeker was asking, and she took a deep breath before launching happily into her story, enjoying the private, girlish moment of gossip with Cassandra as they marched to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to address this whole thing with Cullen before Adamant, but I was hoping it would grow a little more organically than it may have. I gave him a bit of backstory that I know isn't really conclusive with what we all kind of accept as his canon, but I thought it made a bit more sense for his character to do it this way. 
> 
> Also I really love their dream. I've been mulling it over for a while, and I'm happy I was able to work it in here. 
> 
> Poor Cassandra... I knew there was a reason I love her, though.


	34. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another major quest.

Romulus couldn’t believe his eyes.

That huge dragon had eaten the Warden-Commander, spat her back out, and then she _still_ managed to do some pretty serious damage to it.

Of course, that meant the platform they had been on started to collapse along with it.

Romulus had sprinted out of the way; they would have all been safe, but the Warden lost his grip, and his Wolf Sister had gone back to help him. Then they were all scrambling and slipping: the Wolf Father, the Storm, Compassion, the Champion…

He had made it back to safe, solid ground, and turned around to find them all clinging desperately.

His Wolf Sister was the first to fall.

He watched, horrified, as a bright flash of Fade green lit up the entire area, and then it was quiet.

Romulus laid down for a minute, concentrating. This was not like that time in the city, when they were rescuing the mages, but more like their flight from Haven; she was clearly alive, but very distant, almost as if she were far enough away to be back home with the Clan.

Knowing that she was okay, he turned and ran, all the way back down to the Tear in the Beyond where the others were fighting. He knew what she would want.

He observed the battle before joining the fray again, pausing at the top of a set of stairs to look down. He could see plenty of the others fighting viciously, but he was looking for one person in particular.

He spotted Cullen, finally, his lion helm reflecting the sickly green light from the Rift in the middle of the courtyard. He was trying to deal with a Terror and a mage, forcing his Templar abilities into use, but they were weak, and he was losing ground.

Romulus wasted no time in launching himself off the platform with a snarl as he saw another mage and demon duo, this time with a Rage, closing in on him.

Romulus landed on the mage’s back, forcing him facedown onto the stone ground, and he instantly tore into the back of its neck. His teeth clamped down, the extras in the jaw of his helmet adding extra puncture wounds, and the mage was dead in a matter of seconds, its Rage falling through the ground back into the Beyond.

“Rom!” Cullen shouted as he smacked the mage back with his shield, trying to dispel the Terror as it sunk into the stone beneath their feet, leaving behind a puddle of green. When it didn’t work, he backpedalled, trying to get out of range of its attack. “Where is she?!”

Rom charged the mage, snatching his staff from his hand before knocking him to the ground and pulling out his throat, much the same way as the first.

More demons came pouring out of the Tear, these ones unbound. Romulus stood his ground at Cullen’s side as he answered, showing him what had happened.

“I thought that was her,” Romulus barely heard as he grunted it out over the fighting. “Don’t worry about me – help the others deal with the mages!”

Romulus charged through the lines, searching for the Moustache, taking as many of the mages down as he could while he waited for his Wolf Sister to return.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa reached out, just with one finger, and then her back slammed into the ground, driving the air from her lungs. She was dizzy; she had been falling, and then she had started falling… backwards, or something?

“Oy… well…” Lupa picked herself up off the ground and spotted Alistair standing upright, sideways, on a floating rock to her left. He turned around to find her. “This is unexpected.”

“We – we were falling.” Hawke was standing up, upside-down, off to Lupa’s right. “If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“No,” Solas answered, stepping past Lupa. “This is the Fade.”

They all stayed silent and let those words sink in.

“The Inquisitor opened a Rift. We came through… and survived. I never thought I would find myself here physically…” Solas pointed at something with his chin, his head nodding. “Look. The Black City, almost close enough to touch…”

He fell silent, then, staring at it, and Lupa knew exactly what he was feeling.

“This is incredible,” she answered, awed.

Solas turned to smile at her, for the first time in too long. His glance said everything he couldn’t say with the others present.

He only gave her a few seconds, though. “Cole,” he called, turning to the boy, “how does it feel to be back home?”

Cole was not doing so well. “I can’t be here. Not like this, not like me!”

Lupa wanted to comfort the poor boy, but Solas stepped in first. “It’s all right. We’ll make it right.”

“This place is wrong,” Cole told them firmly. “I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn’t like this.”

“It’s not how I remember the Fade, either,” Hawke chimed in, still grounded upside-down over their heads. “Perhaps because we’re here physically instead of dreaming? The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?”

“I don’t know,” Lupa admitted. “I still can’t remember what happened the last time I did this.”

“Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can’t assume we’re safe now,” Alistair reminded them.

“That huge demon was right on the other side of that Rift Erimond was using, and there could be others,” Hawke added.

“In the real world, the Rift with the demons in it was nearby – in the Main Hall. Can we get out the same way?” Alistair mused.

“It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?” Lupa spotted what almost looked like a Breach in the sky of the Fade. “There,” she gestured. “Let’s go.”

“Imagine it!” Cassandra finally said, her voice echoing. “To walk in the Fade and survive…”

Lupa dragged them all over the place, Solas at her side; the two of them were like a pair of small children in a sweets shop. They climbed a set of rough steps, only to stop dead at the top.

“What?” whispered Alistair from behind them. “That can’t be…”

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion.”

Her voice was heavily Orlesian, her Chantry robes more extravagant than anything Lupa had ever seen before. There was no mistaking her.

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra asked disbelievingly, stepping ahead of Lupa to approach her. “Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” she answered warmly.

“Is this really her?” Lupa asked softly.

Cassandra didn’t turn around, but when she answered, her voice was strained. “I – I don’t know,” she admitted. “It is said that the spirits of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but…We know the spirits lie, as well. Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“Things in the Fade have a tendency to show up looking like people you know. Demons, mostly,” Alistair added, somewhat dryly.

“You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand in the Fade yourselves,” the… whatever it was finally said. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Really?” asked Hawke. “How hard is it to answer one question? I’m a human, and you are…”

“I am here to help you.”

They all fell silent then, and allowed her the time to continue. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

It was not a question.

“The real Divine would have no way of knowing I’d been named Inquisitor,” Lupa challenged softly.

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare that you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” The Divine shook her head sadly. “The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

“I’d like to have a few words with this Nightmare about that,” Alistair spat.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden,” it soothed. “This place of darkness is its lair.”

“Wait,” Lupa chimed in finally. “That big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?”

“Yes.”

“It’s nearby?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Lupa paused as the words she had been trying to form escaped her. “Shit.”

“When you entered the Fade at Haven, that demon took a part of you,” the Divine told her as Hawke struggled to contain laughter. “Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

Wisps were forming in the valley ahead, and the Divine gestured lazily to them. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.”

And then she was gone.

“What is so funny?” Cassandra asked Hawke before they dove into the fray.

Hawke just stepped over and placed a heavy hand on Lupa’s shoulder. “Varric would be so proud.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen felt like he was having a serious moment of déja vu.

His arms were like jelly, his sword and shield far heavier than they should be. He watched one of his soldiers go down to a Terror, and winced as he charged to help with it, the two stabs in his leg and the deep dent in his breastplate making every move agony.

He had no idea how long the fighting had gone on for. Of Lupa’s circle, only Dorian, Bull, and Blackwall were still standing; the rest had been dragged off the field by his soldiers, and were currently being looked after by Vivienne. She was meditating in a nearby corner, focusing herself to put one of her Knight-Enchanter skills to use.

Cullen was sure the only reason Dorian was still standing was thanks to both Bull and Romulus. Bull was in bad shape, about ready to go down himself, but he quickly sucked back another healing potion and kept right on fighting, refusing to give in while Dorian was still in harm’s way. Romulus’ armour was covered in blood, and the poor thing would have gone feral by now if he was just another unintelligent beast from the amount of blood he must have unintentionally swallowed.

All of a sudden the mages on the field froze, their demons roaring in unison, and then they were turning against the mages who had bound them, two managing a possession before anyone else could react. They were put down quickly by whoever was standing closest, but the rest of the demons remained, and Cullen turned swiftly to strike out with his sword when he heard something fall out of the Rift behind him.

“Seeker!” he announced, surprised, when she caught his sword on her shield with a look of caution.

“Move,” she demanded. “The others are coming.”

Solas fell out next, with his arm wrapped around Cole’s shoulders. The boy instantly relaxed his rigid back, disappearing as soon as Solas let him go. The elf quickly stood and stepped out of the way, just in time for Alistair to tumble out.

The entire Keep seemed to be holding its breath as the seconds stretched on without any sign of Hawke or the Inquisitor. Even the demons seemed to be waiting for something.

Cullen was just about to lose hope when she stumbled through, landing heavily on a foot and a knee. She righted herself instantly, and he felt a shiver run down his spine at the cold steel in her eyes; she reached out her hand, palm stretched, and then closed it into a tight fist, just as she had in Honnleath.

The Rift reacted, the demons screaming again as her power surged through the courtyard and banished them, the Rift behind her slamming closed, and there was a moment of ringing silence before the cheers went up.

She moved up onto the raised platform where the Rift had been, and turned to look out at the sea of people all around her. Alistair ambled up, clutching his side desperately.

He didn’t hear what Alistair said to her; it was quiet, and he was too busy trying to read her properly, past the mask she had put on. She stood as if a great weight had settled on her shoulders, the sort that comes with making a difficult decision.

“Hawke sacrificed her life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus,” Lupa’s voice boomed through the crowded courtyard, and it fell into a ringing silence again. “She gave her life not because she’d sworn an oath, or been marked as special, but because someone had to do it.”

Hawke…dead? Cullen was sure he would never hear those words used together in the same sentence that way. It just wasn’t _right_.

“Alistair?” asked one of the Warden soldiers off to Cullen’s left somewhere. “You’re the only senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?”

Instead, it was Lupa who answered. “You stay, and do whatever you can to help.” None of those who had travelled the Fade with her looked too pleased by that. “Alistair believes that the Wardens are worth saving, and I trust him. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing.”

Cullen saw Solas sigh, and Cole appeared at the elf’s shoulder. “But… they hurt people.”

Cullen shook his head sadly. The boy didn’t understand; Lupa had made a very sound and strategically smart decision, one he was more than happy to support.

“I’ll send a report to the Wardens at Weisshaupt,” Alistair told her with a small smile, “and then I’ll head back to Skyhold. Corypheus won’t catch us with our trousers down again.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” added one of the soldiers. “We will not fail you.”

Lupa nodded in dismissal, and the soldiers flew into a frenzy of action: heading to healers, removing damaged armour, claiming and listing the dead.

Cullen was closing the eyes on one of his fallen soldiers when Lupa stopped at his side with Romulus. He straightened up again, gingerly, to address her.

“Commander,” she acknowledged him respectfully. He was shocked at the hollow look in her eyes, her icy steel replaced by a lifeless husk. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” he answered immediately. “You’ve just been through the Fade and back – get some rest. No one will hold it against you.”

She stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, and then nodded. “We’ll meet back at Griffon Wing Keep.” A hand found his breastplate, and the metal snapped back into its original shape; then she reached for his thigh, and it itched and warmed as she knit his torn muscle back together for him.

She turned to leave without a word, before he could thank her, but when Romulus made to follow, she stopped. She looked at him, and he whined sadly a few seconds later. The end result of their silent exchange was Romulus moving back over to Cullen’s side, dragging his paws reluctantly, as Lupa left alone, her back too straight and shoulders too square, the lines of strength forced.

He worked in a daze after that, staying with his troops for another two hours before his Captains insisted he take Lupa’s party back to Griffon Wing to rendezvous and rest before the trip back home to Skyhold.

Vivienne had, at some point, managed to focus herself enough to heal the rest of the party. It was a great show; her power flared in a wide circle with herself in the centre. All of Lupa’s unconscious allies had sat up slowly at the same time, blinking and looking at each other, and a few of the soldiers they had thought were dead extricated themselves from the pile of bodies they had been added to.

Varric found him as they walked back to where the horses were being kept. “Everything worked out then?” he asked hesitantly.

Cullen shook his head. “Varric, you should know…”

“What? What happened?” Varric asked, voice low and thick with worry.

“I’m sorry, Varric. Lupa opened a Fade Rift to save them all from dying from a fall, and…”

Cullen couldn’t continue. He and Hawke had never been friends, but she had been a charismatic person, to say the least. To think that the world would go on without her was bizarre.

“Hawke didn’t make it, did she?”

Cullen winced at the way Varric broke as he said those words, and all he could do was shake his head.

Varric didn’t say anything else, eventually stepping aside from the group as they walked to avoid being disturbed.

When they reached the mounts, Cullen was shocked to see Ellana still standing with the others.

“ _Vishante kaffas_. Best go ahead and make sure she made it in one piece, Commander,” Dorian suggested as Cullen’s stomach dropped.

He hopped up into Mia’s saddle and was off in a matter of seconds, Ellana with them, the hart keeping close to their side.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“She arrived on foot about half an hour ago, Commander,” answered one of the soldiers at the front gate academically. “Told us that the mission had been a success, and to look out for you and the others. If I may say so, Commander, she looked like hell.”

“Did she say anything else?” Cullen asked impatiently.

“Only that she not be disturbed unless there was a grave emergency.”

Cullen sighed. “Did she go straight up to her tent?”

“She stopped at the merchant’s first,” the soldier informed him, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Looked like she grabbed a book, and then she went up the steps to the upper level.”

“Thank you, carry on.”

“Yes, Commander,” the soldier saluted.

Cullen walked slowly to the merchant’s stall. He was in no hurry now that he knew she was safe.

“Hi there, Commander!” the bookseller called to him. “Are you headed to see the Inquisitor?”

“I will be shortly, yes,” he responded as he approached the little stall. “Why?”

“Well, she came by and asked for a copy of _Tale of the Champion_ as soon as she got in – strange request, if you ask me. Isn’t the author one of her inner circle? Anyway, she insisted, then handed me a handful of coins for it and just left. It was way too much, but she didn’t seem to hear me calling her back.” The bookseller sighed dramatically and handed him the change. “I was hoping you’d be able to take what she overpayed back to her.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Commander. Was there something you needed?”

“You already told me what I was going to ask. Thank you again for your help.”

“Anytime!” the bookseller called before turning back to her stock.

Cullen was standing in front of her tent only a few minutes later, wondering if he should go in to see her. He broke when he heard a choked sob and a sniffle from inside, pushing the tent flaps aside to enter.

Lupa was sitting cross-legged on the ground, still in her full armour, which was covered in blood, ichor, and general Fade gore. Her back was to the entry, but she was turned just enough that Cullen could see the book open in her lap.

He sighed, and so did she. He didn’t move, and she began to speak a few seconds later, her voice shaky and broken. “Did you know Hawke helped a somniari boy? A real somniari?”

“I did,” Cullen answered when she didn’t continue immediately.

She swallowed audibly, sniffling again quietly. “She had to do a ritual to go to the Fade and help him escape a nightmare that had taken over his mind. It says here that Merrill and Isabela both turned on her when demons made them offers. She had to fight them until they woke and came to their senses. It was just her and Anders in the end. She still managed to save the boy, and forgive the others for what they did.”

Cullen remembered reading about that in the book. He stayed silent, waiting for Lupa to continue in her own time.

“The first time she goes into the Fade where she’s in full control, and she’s betrayed by two of her close friends. I just took her in for the second time, and this time, she didn’t make it out, because _I_ betrayed her.”

“You did no such thing,” Cullen told her strongly.

“No? I opened the Rift and dropped us in. I promised them all that we’d find a way out, all of us. And then that disgusting spidery beast of a Nightmare demon descends on us, cuts us off from the others, keeps us from escaping, and I’m sending her in, knowing she won’t – she won’t make it-” she was falling apart again, slowly succumbing to the tears, trying to get the words out while they would still make sense. “Because Alistair – he needs to – the Wardens need him, and – no one needs Hawke like they need Alistair. And the Divine – it _was – was_ me – I tried to – she-”

She was staring at her hands, as if there was blood was all over them. He could see the tremor in her shoulders, down her spine, and then she hunched over and cried. He stood frozen for only another few seconds before he crossed the tent and knelt in front of her, drawing her forward to try to give her some comfort.

She jerked away as soon as his hand found the top of her shoulder, her hands flying down from where they were covering her eyes. Her entire face was splotchy and irritated looking, her eyes red, watery, bloodshot. She tried to breathe and the air caught in her nose and throat, making a strange strangled sound.

He tried again to pull her in, and this time she let him, sobbing loudly into the fur of his mantle for many long minutes while he rubbed circles up and down her spine in an effort to calm her down. He let himself take the time to mourn Hawke, as well, a few of his own tears falling to meet hers.

She pulled back when her breathing became steadier, tears still streaming down her face. “When did I become this?” she asked in a whisper, her eyes wide and terrified, unfocused. “I didn’t even think about it – I just knew that Alistair was needed, and Hawke wasn’t, and I sent her in with barely even a second’s consideration. When did I become such a monster?”

“You are _not_ a monster.” Cullen wiped her cheeks dry, even as new tears carved fresh tracks down them. “The burden of leadership is making the hard decisions that your followers can’t make. It’s what sets you above them. You did the right thing, Lupa. I know it hurts, I know it feels terrible, but you did the right thing by sparing Alistair.”

“Leaving Hawke behind wasn’t right,” she choked out.

Cullen unclasped his breastplate, tossing it lightly to the other side of the tent, before laying back and pulling Lupa down with him. She continued to cry into the shoulder of his leather tunic, silent this time, and they stayed like that until she ran dry, exhausted and drifting into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long: I've had a busy few days, this chapter was really hard to actually write for some reason, and I've started playing Mass Effect for the first time. 
> 
> Just a warning that updates might not be quite as frequent as they were before, because Mass Effect is now slowly going to end up taking over my life. 
> 
> Don't worry, Dragon Age is still my first Bioware love, and this story will not be forgotten, I promise.


	35. The Sky Grew Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm sorry... maybe.

Cullen woke alone the next morning.

He had slept terribly, though his dreaming had nothing to do with his lyrium withdrawal, and everything to do with the battle they’d just fought. He woke at one point to find Romulus pressed tightly to his other side, and he slept dreamlessly from there, though the quality of his sleep was still not better.

His heart was still heavy as he reached across the tent for his abandoned breastplate, his mantle still attached to it, and began to put himself together for the day. When he emerged from the tent a few minutes later, he spotted Lupa at a large table with a few of the others, picking at breakfast. She looked small and vulnerable, still, a little shrunken.

A rustle sounded from Cullen’s right, and he stopped and turned to see Varric emerging, looking so terrible, Cullen almost didn’t recognize him; he had heavy bags and dark circles under his eyes, hair left down and matted, stubble growing out and skin pale. It told of heavy drinking and little sleep, where you slowly sober up and then hit your hangover, instead of waking up to it.

Varric turned to look at him, his eyes unfocused and bloodshot, before turning to make his way to the breakfast table. Of course Varric was going to take this hard, and how was Lupa going to respond if he blamed her for it?

Cullen followed the dwarf to the table at a distance, and was surprised when Varric took the seat to Lupa’s right. He quickly stepped around the table to sit across from them.

Lupa looked like hell, too, but she was reaching to the side to drag Varric into a hug. “Shit…” he muttered to himself past her arm, and she just tightened her grip on him until he pulled away.

He scrubbed the heel of one of his palms into one of his eyes and shook his head. Cullen realized he had walked in on the middle of a story.

“The Guild… tracked the shipment to Hawke’s uncle,” Varric finally continued, voice low and rough, “but as usual, he was so far in debt that he couldn’t see daylight – so they went after Hawke instead. They sent these guys from the local Carta to Hawke’s estate one night; five big dusters, all armed to the teeth.” Varric broke to sigh and take a gulp of water. “They kick in the door, and Hawke yells, ‘You’re just in time!’ and drags them over into our game of Wicked Grace.”

Cullen huffed out a quiet laugh. He had heard about that.

“They played two hands before the city guard showed up to take them away. A couple of them actually became regulars in our weekly game.” Varric paused, the small smile that had come over his face from telling the story falling again. “Hawke just… had that effect on people.”

Lupa rubbed his arm, but stayed silent, staring at the table in front of her.

“I always wanted to tell that one,” Varric murmured. “Thanks.”

Lupa took her arm back. “She… she asked me to say goodbye to you, Varric.”

He sighed, and then froze, head cocking to the side lightly and eyes going wide. “ _Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls…_ Well, shit. How did I not see this before?”

Lupa cocked her head at him in turn, and his eyes almost brightened as the gears in his head turned. Lupa flashed a look at Cullen across the table, and he shrugged almost imperceptibly.

“Let me see that,” he muttered and reached a hand into Lupa’s lap. Cullen sucked in a shocked breath, but relaxed when Varric slammed the book he’d written on the table.

“Where’s the chapter on Sundermount?” Varric muttered as he flipped through, smacking a palm on the page when he found it. “There. When I wrote this, I left out part of it – it sounded insane, and no one would have ever believed me.”

“What do you mean?” Lupa asked quietly.

“Well, you know how Daisy goes with us up the mountain, so Hawke can put that amulet on an altar? The one the witch who saved her from the darkspawn outside of Lothering gave her?” Lupa nodded, and Varric continued. “Well, that witch happened to be the Witch of the Wilds, you know… Flemeth? And she can turn into a fucking dragon.”

The entire table was watching silently now, and Varric looked between them all before continuing. “The Sundermount Clan had a name for her – asha-something. I think it means something about being long-lived-”

“The _Asha’belannar_ ,” Lupa told him.

“ _Yeah_ , that’s it, thanks,” Varric nodded to her and looked up from the book again. “We put this amulet on the altar, and Daisy gives her little eulogy, and we’re about to leave when she just… materializes out of it.”

Lupa was hanging on every word Varric was saying, her eyes finally bright again. Cullen wasn’t sure why this was such a big deal to her, but it clearly meant more than to the rest of them.

“So she pops out, and starts talking to us. I didn’t pay attention to most of it, because I was still wrapping my head around the idea that we had somehow _saved the Witch’s life by taking an amulet to an ancient altar of Mythal_ – you’re not the only one crazy shit happens to,” Varric threw in, and a few of the others at the table chuckled. Lupa, however, was still staring a hole into Varric’s head, waiting for him to continue with a hungry and awed expression. Cullen had never seen her so focused and absorbed on anything in her life.

“Anyway, so I finally give up on trying to figure it out, and I swear, I’ll never forget the words she told Hawke.” He began to mimic the Witch, his voice raising an octave or so. “‘Destiny awaits us both, dear girl. We have much to do. But before I go, a word of advice?’” Varric took a deep breath. “‘We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the Abyss. Watch for that moment… and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.’”

The words rang through the silence of their table, and Cullen looked at Lupa, who was carefully trying to piece everything together. Varric’s voice, when he continued again, was back to normal. “Of course then Hawke insulted her by telling her it was ‘cheap advice from a dragon,’ but the Witch took it in good stride. But the ‘abyss’… that’s what the Chant calls the Fade, right? So I guess Hawke’s known this would be the end of the road for her since the very beginning.”

Lupa finally shook herself out of whatever reverie she had been stuck in, and nodded. “I’m still sorry, Varric.”

“So am I. The world’s taken too much from her,” he answered sadly again. “But I think you did your best for Thedas, Lupa, and I mean that. There’s no way I could have made that decision, because I would have been thinking selfishly. You saved the Wardens, and as much as it pains me to say it, that’s more important for the future than the exiled Champion of Kirkwall.”

Lupa put her arm around his shoulders and dragged him into her side again, and he leaned on her for a minute before excusing himself to go get cleaned up.

Lupa was quiet through the rest of breakfast, and Cullen could see the gears turning in her head, putting together the pieces of Varric’s story. He was about to ask about it when she looked up at him, her still pond blues full of unanswered questions and steely academic resolve.

“I – thank you for coming ahead to help me last night,” she said to him, barely above a whisper. “You were right.”

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Somewhat,” Lupa admitted after a moment of picking at her food. “But now I at least have something to look in to today, to keep me occupied.” She stood then, giving up on breakfast and putting the plate down for Romulus to clean up. “I’m sorry, _da’mi_ , but I need to go find Solas.”

“I’m going to be very busy today anyway,” Cullen told her. He had a list of names to compose, and letters to begin writing – it was always the worst part of a battle, informing the families back home that their loved one was gone. “You do what you need to, and I’ll see you tonight.”

“I look forward to it,” she told him with just a hint of a smile, and then he was watching her go, Romulus at her side, wondering what they could possibly be so excited about.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“I can see why you would reach that conclusion, Little One, but I assure you, she is nothing more than a legendary Chasind hedge mage.”

Solas looked at her frowning, listened to Romulus’ reluctance to believe him, and did his best not to react to it.

Oh, they were _very_ correct. Had they discovered this months ago, right after the Conclave, he would have told her the truth. Why he felt he needed to keep the information from them now, he wasn’t sure.

“But… it makes so much _sense_ ,” she tried to argue again, and Solas shook his head.

“Just because it makes sense, does not make it true.” He carefully clasped his hands behind his back, but when they met, he squeezed them together tightly in his irritation.

Lupa finally sighed, giving in. “I suppose you would know if she was. She was your friend, after all. I just thought that maybe you would… I don’t know, be excited to hear that she had survived, if you weren’t aware. You’re sure it isn’t her?”

“I am positive,” he lied convincingly. “Besides, why would she possess the body of a shemlen? She was a proud Elvhen, and would not fall so low to desperation as that, even if she _did_ survive.”

“Perhaps because she found a kindred spirit in a _human,_ instead of in another elf,” Lupa countered. “Just because _you_ would rather die than live on in a human, doesn’t mean she felt the same.”

“Mythal died Ages ago,” Solas almost spat at her finally, ignoring her jab, “and the others are all locked away. I am the only one left, and to believe any different would be irresponsible.”

Lupa shook her head at him. “If you say so,” she answered after a minute of just staring at him, and then her and Romulus turned to leave without another word or glance.

Solas watched them go with a softening, breaking heart. Since when had it come to cheap lies and petty fights between them? He just wanted to have her to himself, and everything he did seemed to push her further and further away.

Even Romulus seemed distrustful now; of course the wolf could smell every chemical change in Solas, and probably had figured out that he was lying. _Dirthara-ma_ , he hadn’t considered that – how was he going to patch this up and make it look better than it was?

He went back to reorganizing his pack, his mind wandering to the easier days between them. He missed them; when was the last time they shared a dream, or a quiet night of stargazing? Her presence was like a soothing balm, and without it, he was becoming chapped and rough, his dark side emerging more and more.

It had been his greatest fear, once, and he had confessed it to her after the one time she had seen him Dark. As the years went on, she made it clear that she would not hesitate to put him in his place should he ever go Dark again.

As the days passed, though, he seemed to lose more and more of himself to the Dread Wolf; Fen’Harel was barely hanging on, now. His fear was almost gone, and soon, he was sure he would gladly give in to the Dread Wolf once more.

Not today, though. Today, Fen’Harel focused on the mundane task of organizing his pack, using the distraction to gather as much patience as he could muster.

 

*                             *                             *

 

When Lupa finally returned to the others that night, she found them sitting around a large fire with tankards in hand. Alistair had come to join them; he had assigned another to take the Wardens to Weisshaupt, so that he could return to Skyhold with them.

“There you are!” he shouted when Lupa reached the top of the stairs. “We were wondering when you’d get back. Here,” he gestured to an empty seat and an unclaimed tankard, “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” she asked as she joined them all, raising an eyebrow at him.

Everyone laughed, including Alistair. “You see?!” he gestured to the others. “I was thinking that this merry band of yours needs its own name,” he explained to Lupa as she sat, “and I was thinking it should be ‘The Raised Brow Brigade,’ because you all seem to love to raise your eyebrow at each other over _everything_. What do you think?”

Lupa just stared at him for a few seconds before doubling over in roaring laughter, smacking the side of her knee as the rest of the group joined her at her reaction.

“That’s good, Alistair,” she finally gasped. “I take it you spent all day working on that one?”

“All month, actually,” he told her with a wink. “These things take time, you know.”

Lupa sat back and enjoyed the comradery, laughing with the others as she drank, forgetting that just yesterday they had fought a terrible fight and lost Hawke. Even Varric was his usual lively self tonight, telling dramatic stories at the behest of the others.

Cullen dropped into the empty space next to her at some point, looking exhausted, and excusing himself shortly afterward. Lupa cleared her throat and leaned over to Dorian when he left.

“You going to be good to leave at first light?” she asked him.

“Whatever you need, love,” he smirked at her.

She nodded, picking herself up to go talk to Bull and Varric before calling it a night.

“I thought we’d go back with the others again, Boss,” Bull asked.

“We need to stop in Emprise du Lion,” she reminded him gently.

“Oh, right, Samson stuff for Cullen,” Bull muttered. “I’ll be ready, Boss. Try to get some sleep, you look like shit.”

“Thanks, Bull,” Lupa intoned flatly as she rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder, making him chuckle.

She was in bed ten minutes later, and she drifted off quickly, glad to know that she could throw herself back into work and usefulness in the morning.

 

*                             *                             *

 

_Lupa drifted, dreaming of nothing, when she felt the Fade ripple like a pond around her._

_Someone was searching for her._

_She followed the subtle pull for what seemed like hours, when she stumbled into her Keeper._

_“Hahren!” she called excitedly. “Ir abelas, I should have come to visit you before now. You were searching for me?”_

_“Da’len,” the Keeper breathed, relieved. “Thank the Creators I found you.”_

_Lupa frowned, concerned. The Keeper felt like panic and resignation. “What is going on, hahren?”_

_“Your people have been a huge help to us, da’len, but Wycome has betrayed us. We… are not going to make it out of this, da’len.”_

_Lupa stared, dumbfounded. “What? Why? How could this happen?”_

_“I am not sure,” the Keeper answered. “At first we thought those attacking us were simple bandits, looking to hunt us for sport. We settled closer to Wycome than we would have liked – there are Rifts here, as well, and the area we chose was relatively clear of them.” She took a deep breath. “You people helped us drive the bandits off, and to understand that the ‘bandits’ were actually mercenaries hired by the Duke of Wycome to eliminate us. Apparently there is a ‘plague’ that has only affected the shemlen there, and the blame was placed on our Traders.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Lupa told her when she stopped to breathe. “Duke Antoine has always ensured that our Traders are treated fairly and respectfully. Why would he be turning on us now?”_

_“I do not know, da’len,” the Keeper told her, and then continued. “One of your Spymaster’s scouts joined with an Inquisition ambassador at some point, and they reported a new purification system in the wells regarding a red crystal, though when I asked why this was a problem, they didn’t explain.”_

_“It’s red lyrium. The stuff is dangerous, Keeper. No wonder the people were getting sick.”_

_“That… is unsettling.” She frowned, and then shook her head and continued with her tale. “We received some of the city elves, who came to warn us that we were in danger. Your Spymaster’s scouts and assassins went into the city with us to clear our name, but… the fighting has been bloody, da’len, and I do not think the rest of us will last until tomorrow night.”_

_“What?!” Lupa was aghast, her heart shattering. “Surely not_ everyone _…”_

_“You, your father, and the two Hunters I sent with him are all that is left, Lupa,” Istimaethoriel told her gravely. “I wished to speak with you one last time, to remind you of your responsibility to the Clan, as well as your responsibility to the Inquisition. If there is a way for you to balance both…”_

_“No, this can’t be-”_

_“Ir abelas, da’len. I have told the others to find you if they can make it out alive. You may see more of us yet.” The dream was going hazy around them, and Lupa knew the Keeper was waking. “Do not mourn us, Lupa. Do what you must, and keep us always in your memory.”_

_“Hahren, na melana sahlin,” Lupa began. “Emma ir abelas. I will speak the whole thing for you when I am back at Skyhold, Keeper.”_

_“Thank you, my child,” the Keeper whispered to her as the dream dissolved around them, sending Lupa drifting once more toward the surface to face the day ahead of her._

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen had arrived back to Skyhold with his army only three days before Lupa and her small party made it home.

He was in the training yard when they rode in about an hour before dusk, looking exhausted. Lupa was the worst of the lot, barely registering his presence as he held out a hand to help her off her hart’s back, her eyes once again a strange combination of hollow husk and steely resolve. He watched her place a hand on Ellana’s flank to guide her back to the stables, noting the subtle limp in her step.

“Maker, am I glad to be back here,” Dorian muttered as he jumped down from his horse’s back. “What a dismal trip.”

“What happened?” Cullen asked.

“We got what you needed, but it was tough,” Bull told him. “Boss had her lower leg crushed by one of those red lyrium behemoths about a week and a half ago. She’s lucky she can walk at all.”

“Don’t forget her Clan being annihilated while we were in the Approach,” Varric chimed in. “She only stopped crying herself to sleep about three nights ago.”

Cullen could do nothing but stare at them, open-mouthed. Leliana hadn’t received any updates about her Clan until a week ago; they’d had no idea that anything had gone wrong.

“How does she know?” he asked finally.

“Her Keeper apparently took enough lyrium to kill a Pride demon, and went searching the Fade for her the night before we left Griffon Wing,” Dorian explained. “Told her then that they wouldn’t make it through another day.”

First Hawke, and now this? Maker, this was just cruel. And she had known before leaving, but didn't bother to let him know?

Lupa and Romulus were climbing the steps to the main hall, now. Cullen was about to follow them when Dorian grabbed his arm. “Give her a bit of time. She mentioned wanting at least a few minutes to herself when she got back. She told us to meet her in her quarters in about half an hour, though. You should come with us.”

So Cullen gave her half a sun’s mark before climbing the stairs to find her. He looked up at one point, noticing a great murder of crows circling overhead, all of them slowly winging their way over to her tower. He wondered what that was all about as he crossed the hall and slipped in the door by her throne, up to her rooms.

When he entered, he saw he wasn’t the first to seek her out: she was joined by Leliana, Josephine, and all the rest of her inner circle, as well as Alistair, her father, her two Clanmates, and all of the Bull’s Chargers.

They all allowed him to squeeze to the front, and he knelt next to her father, who nodded to him gravely. Cullen nodded back, and then focused on Lupa.

She was standing on the balcony that looked over the mountains, her aura stretched wide, and she was surrounded by crows; fourty or fifty of them, maybe more. When the final bird landed, a lonely hawk, she knelt, and everyone who was still standing behind him followed her example.

 

_“Hahren na melana sahlin_

_Emma ir abelas_

_Souver'inan isala hamin_

_Vhenan him dor'felas_

_In uthenera na revas_

_Vir sulahn'nehn_

_Vir dirthera_

_Vir samahl la numin_

_Vir lath sa'vunin”_

The words hit Cullen’s heart like a battering ram, and her voice broke on the last line. He wished he knew what she had said.

Her father reached out and clasped Cullen’s hand firmly. He squeezed it back as she continued again, this time speaking so the others could understand.

 

“Elder, your time is come

Now I am filled with sorrow

Weary eyes need resting

Heart has become grey and slow

In waking, sleep is freedom

 

We sing, rejoice

We tell the tale

We laugh and cry

We love one more day”

 

“It isn’t meant to be translated,” Mahanon whispered. “Sounds silly that way.”

The crows all cried out loudly, repeatedly, as one. She let it go on for half a minute before she stood and raised her hands toward the sky, and the crows all took off in a flurry of wings, a few black feathers drifting down onto the balcony as they continued to circle and cry, their voices a strange, dissonant song as they slowly wheeled away and dispersed.

“ _Dareth shiral, Lavellan. Ar lasa mala revas._ You are free, now.”

Cullen got to his feet gingerly when he heard the others doing the same behind him, his eyes fixed on the hawk that was still sitting on its perch in front of Lupa on her balcony railing. Her aura expanded, and she offered her bare arm to it. It hopped over, sinking its claws into her as it settled; Cullen saw her wince, but she didn’t attempt to throw it off. Instead, she reached up with her other hand and stroked two fingers along the crest of its head, and he saw it stretch into her touch, leaning on her when she stroked the side of its face, next.

“ _Ir abelas,”_ she murmured to it, and it blinked lazily at her before offering a soft sound. She turned to look out over the balcony again and threw her arm out, casting it over the edge, and it cried out regally as it circled before following the crows.

Cullen wasn’t sure if he should follow her father onto the balcony, or the others to the tavern, but he stepped away from the crowd when Mahanon waved him over.

“Don’t tell me you think you’re escaping from private family mourning time, son,” he teased as Cullen stepped up to them.

“I’ve never met the Clan before,” Cullen answered. “I thought you might want some time alone.”

“Nonsense,” Mahanon chastised him immediately. “You _are_ family, regardless of whether you met them or not.”

Lupa reached out a hand to him, and he took it wordlessly, threading his fingers through hers and giving her a gentle squeeze. She returned the pressure, and he stepped just a little closer, so their arms could hang more naturally at their sides.

Lupa leaned on his arm, and he looked down to catch her eye. She looked… peaceful. Perhaps not healed, but on the path to healing. This seemed to be the closure she had needed.

She sighed. “Do you think Varric will be upset that I included Hawke?”

“I doubt it, baby,” Mahanon told her softly. “He seemed teary, but the good kind of teary. Not angry.”

She nodded. “Good. I am so-” she broke to yawn widely, “so tired. Thank you, both.”

“I know when I’m no longer welcome,” Mahanon teased again, leaning in to kiss Lupa on the cheek. “Have a good night, kids.”

“Goodnight, _papae._ ” She waited only a few moments before turning back to him. “Are you busy, or can you stay with me for a bit? I’ve been… sleeping poorly, and I was hoping you could join me, just until I drift off.”

“Of course,” he answered as she yawned again. He took his hand back to begin taking off his breastplate, and she walked over to her bed, falling backwards onto it and closing her eyes with a contented sigh.

“You’re not sleeping like that, are you?” Cullen asked, eyeing her leather breeches.

“No energy left to get rid of everything,” she mumbled, and he laughed at her as he placed his heavy chestpiece on the floor.

He grabbed the cuffs of her pants as he waited for her to unlace them, and when she was done, he pulled them off slowly, placing them neatly on the arm of her couch. She leaned forward and pulled off her shirt, balling it up and tossing it to him.

Her breastband and smalls both hit him squarely in the chest when he turned around again, and they laughed as he removed his underarmour before joining her.

She slipped under the covers, but he stayed on top of them, not wanting to be cold when he left. She turned her back to him, the blankets tucked under her arm, and he threw an arm across the dip in her waist before pulling himself closer, burying his face in her hair, revelling in the feeling of the smooth skin on her shoulderblades as they leaned back into his chest.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked her tentatively, hoping to distract himself from the way his body was responding to her touch and her smell.

She snuggled closer into him, and giggled when his breath hitched. “It still hurts. It always will. But…” she fell silent for a moment. “I’ve made my peace with it. I will move forward with their memories and do my best to represent my Clan Name as one of the Last.” She yawned loudly again. “And I’m sure I’ll feel better once I’ve had some solid sleep again.”

Cullen chuckled, and in only a matter of seconds, her breathing slowed as she fell asleep. He stayed with her there until his own eyelids became heavy, joining her contentedly in slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've barely made mention of the Dalish war table questline before, but I thought it needed to be brought up. I mean, it gets obliterated if you misstep, and with Cullen in the Approach, he really had no men to help the elves. So... 
> 
> Sorry, Clan Lavellan. She handled it well, at least. I couldn't have written that level of grief if my life depended on it.
> 
> I should explain Solas, as well: the long story short is that I see him like the Greek/Roman deities - the same God, but with two different personalities, depending on who's worshipping them. In this case, I twisted it more into a Jeckyll/Hyde situation, but that's where the inspiration for it came from.


	36. Turned His Devotion Upon Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. Full Cullen POV. 
> 
> DO NOT READ THIS AT WORK. Seriously, I'm shouting across the internet. I mean it. It's not safe.

Cullen woke, freezing, a few hours before dawn.

Lupa had shifted onto her back at some point, and Cullen was flat on his stomach, an arm under his head, the other thrown across her over the blankets between them. He cursed to himself silently; he should have just stripped down to his smalls and joined her.

He was well-rested, though, despite the cold. He hadn’t even had the ghost of a nightmare, and if he did, he didn’t remember it. Her constant proximity in the Fade was always soothing, but it seemed her physical presence helped, too.

Cullen chuckled as he saw her stir and frown without waking when his weight left the mattress, and he watched her sleep for half a minute. Her hair was spread out in a great fan behind her, her head falling to the side comfortably as she readjusted without him there. She looked so… vulnerable in sleep, almost normal. She wasn’t the Herald, then, or the Inquisitor, or the scion of the elves – she was just Lupa.

Cullen put all of his discarded pieces of armour back on as quickly and quietly as possible before picking his way down her steps, closing the door lightly behind him. When he emerged in the main hall, he breathed a sigh of relief at the late – or early – hour. The hall was entirely deserted, and no one would know that he had just left her room. Maybe, just _maybe_ , he wouldn’t have to listen to the incessant gossiping later in the day.

Romulus padded through a crack in the doors as Cullen was about halfway down the hall, and he stopped to give the wolf a scratch under the chin before continuing on to his office. It would be a few more hours before someone brought him his usual morning cup of coffee, but he dove into his work feverishly before his usual daily aches and pains could set in.

His coffee came with breakfast, and he worked through with it. He had spent most of the morning so far working on training schedules and guard rotations, and still had a large stack of neglected reports to sift through.

The sun was filtering in through his open doors, and he decided to take advantage of the good weather. He grabbed his stack of reports, a quill, and an inkpot, and made his way to the gardens.

There was a tall shrub that had a desk and a pair of seats behind it that afforded a perfect view of the rest of the gardens, but was impossible to see behind – it was one of Cullen’s favourite places to relax, but he always had to be careful when he went there. Frequently he would find one of Leliana’s scouts back there, keeping an eye on things, and he had stumbled upon a pair of his soldiers on a few occasions, trying to work out their stress away from the watching eyes of the others.

Today, it was empty, and he smiled as he took a seat, placing his effects lightly on the table in front of him. He peered out and spotted Morrigan sitting in the gazebo with a young boy, both with open tomes in their laps. Cullen had heard that she brought her son along with her to Skyhold, and that the boy was rather strange, but he had also heard that they were polite enough and kept to themselves, so he didn’t worry about them too much.

He went back to his reports, and had been working on them for about three quarters of an hour when he was brought out of his focus by the sound of Alistair’s voice.

“That’s him?” Alistair asked, voice quiet and cautious but unfortunately carrying. Cullen looked and found him sitting next to Morrigan in the gazebo, staring at her son. She closed the book in her lap slowly as he continued to speak. “I thought he’d look, I don’t know, more _demonic._ Tentacles and fiery breath.”

Kieran, her son, didn’t bother to look up from the tome he was examining. Morrigan showed no emotion at all when she responded. “He is a normal boy, Alistair.”

“Uh-huh. And what does he know of… how he was made?”

Cullen frowned as he listened. Alistair was unusually subdued, and Cullen remembered an old conversation with the Warden, his mind putting together the pieces only fractions of a second before Morrigan confirmed it. “He knows his father was a good man, and a hero. I – I thought you deserved that much.”

Alistair finally grinned and chuckled darkly. “He’s changed you.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Morrigan countered.

“He has – I never said it was a bad thing, Morrigan.” Cullen saw them exchange a tense look, one that was familiar enough to make him smile. “Since, um…”

“Natia’s mabari still has your tongue, I see,” Morrigan teased, but it was bribeless.

Alistair chuckled again and cleared his throat. “Well, I’m here now, and over the years, I’ve… I suppose I’ve changed, too. Grown up, at least a bit.”

“’Tis something I never thought I’d see.”

“Okay, maybe he hasn’t changed you all that much,” Alistair laughed. “I’ve wondered, all these years, what became of… well, I didn’t know whether it was a boy or girl, but I wondered, just the same. And about you.”

Morrigan didn’t respond, but Cullen could see her brows coming together, likely pressing a little crease in between them at Alistair’s words. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I guess I just… Now that I’m here, I’d like to help. I mean, even if he doesn’t know who I am, I just-”

“I think that is an excellent idea.”

Alistair froze, definitely shocked. “Really? I almost expected you to turn me into a toad, or something.”

This time it was Morrigan who laughed. “I am only capable of turning _myself_ into other creatures, Alistair. Ten years later, and you still cannot wrap your head around it.”

“Well, forgive me, you ran off after we stabbed the dragon in its ugly head, and for the year before that, you refused to let me understand anything.”

Morrigan smiled, and then they both turned to look at Kieran when he finally spoke. “Mother?”

“Yes, little man?” Morrigan brushed the hair out of the boy’s eyes with a loving touch.

Kieran looked at Alistair. “Did you say this is Father? I thought you told me I would never meet him.”

“I told you I thought it unlikely,” Morrigan corrected him softly. “Do you remember why I said so?”

“You said that Father was very busy with important work, keeping the world safe from the darkspawn,” Kieran answered slowly.

“That’s right. ’Tis why he’s here now, with us.”

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been around, Kieran,” Alistair told the boy across Morrigan’s lap.

“Mother didn’t want help, but she was scared for you.”

Morrigan turned to give the boy a sharp look.

“Oh?” Alistair asked.

“When she learned that the Wardens were hearing the Calling,” Kieran nodded. “She never told me, but I knew. She was scared. And she has been lonely, too, with just me.”

Neither Alistair or Morrigan said anything, though the latter did breathe a heavy sigh. They were all silent long enough that Kieran went back to the tome in his lap.

“Enough of this for today, little man,” Morrigan told him, picking the book up out of his lap gently. “Perhaps your Father would like to teach you for the rest of the morning?”

“Whatever you want to know,” Alistair winked at the boy. Morrigan gave him another sharp look, and he cleared his throat. “Within reason, of course,” he added.

Morrigan stood, tucking the two tomes close to her chest with one arm. “’Tis time he learned of his lineage, I think. I have deliberately left Fereldan royal history out of his curriculum.”

Alistair nodded at her. “It’s… good to see you, Morrigan. I never thought I’d ever say it, but there it is.”

“Perhaps I am not the only one to change,” Morrigan answered. “I will be in the tavern after dinner. Meet me there. We will… talk.”

Alistair smiled at her, and then she bowed her head and turned to walk away from them. Kieran scooted closer to Alistair, and tentatively grabbed the man’s hand. Alistair looked at it for a few seconds before taking his hand back; Kieran’s usually neutral expression broke to show a little rejection, but he smiled widely when Alistair put his arm over his shoulders and hugged him tight to his side.

“Alright, kiddo, now that Mom’s gone, where do you want to start?”

Cullen chuckled to himself. Alistair, being a Templar recruit and then a Warden, would surely have no experience with children, but he fell into the roll naturally. Kieran inquired about something; Cullen had stopped paying attention to the words, instead noting the subtle pride mixed with nervousness on Alistair’s face as he answered, and the rapt attention on Kieran’s as he listened, entirely awed by Alistair’s wild tale, which included a lot of hand waving.

“Very interesting.”

Leliana was better at showing up and disappearing unannounced than Cole was, and Cullen was never surprised when she appeared out of nowhere. He turned in his seat to find her as a musical laugh lifted from Kieran’s throat, the sound unfamiliar but incredibly heartwarming.

“They hated each other, you know,” Leliana continued when Cullen turned his attention to her finally. “Morrigan was brash, uncivil even – she would say things simply because she knew they would hurt you, and Alistair was still relatively fresh from his Templar training, always harping on her about being an apostate. She is much warmer now. I suppose it was motherhood that did it to her – Kieran has softened her edges. And seeing him like this, he seems just like any normal boy. Maybe I misjudged her and Alistair entirely all those years ago.” Cullen was confused, and when he didn’t say anything in response, she gave him an icy, sly smirk and continued. “I will only drag you out of your daydreams for another few minutes,” she promised. “I have information regarding Samson.”

Cullen instantly sat forward, his carefree smile disappearing. “What have you learned?”

“I just received these reports from your people,” Leliana informed him as she handed him a pile of parchment. “It is… not good. We believe his armour is the key. Dagna has been given samples to work with, and she will let us know when she comes up with something. The rest I will leave to you to read, and if I come up with anything else, I will let you know.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” Cullen breathed, staring at the papers she had given him. When he looked up again, she was already gone.

He couldn’t help but be drawn to the sight of Alistair and Kieran in the gazebo again; Alistair was pretending to stab something at his feet with an invisible sword, and Kieran was laughing brightly beside him.

A scene flashed before Cullen’s eyes suddenly: it was one from the first dream he’d had that hadn’t turned into a terror since before Kinloch Hold, of his future with Lupa. He was sure it wouldn’t play out like that, but he remembered having to clean up the snow that was falling to the living room floor thanks to their troublesome son, his bright blue eyes, just like his mother’s, full of mischief.

There was a deep longing in his chest as he remembered it, saw it in front of his eyes, and then he began to feel a little jealous of Alistair when he and Kieran came back into focus.

_Not now,_ he chastised himself as he stood, gathering his effects off the table to move back to his office.

He smiled as his heart responded.

_There’s nothing wrong with wishing, is there?_

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen resisted the urge to scrub his eyes with the heels of his palms, but only barely.

It wasn’t really that late; the days were getting longer, but the sun was still disappearing early, and his untimely wake-up was finally catching up to him. He’d called his usual weekly meeting with his Captains for after sunset, but he could barely keep himself from yawning.

He was finally almost finished, after half an hour – a long meeting, by his usual standards.

He was staring at his desktop as he gave the final orders of the night, meaning he missed the sight of the door from the solar opening and closing again.

“Rylen’s men will monitor the situation,” Cullen gestured to one of his Captains, who was taking a fresh company back out to the Approach to relieve those out there and bring them back to Skyhold. He reached out and grabbed a report from a runner, at his right, signing it quickly and handing it back. “In the meantime, we’ll send more soldiers to…” As he looked up and swung around again, mid-sentence, he caught sight of Lupa leaning against the wall by the door, biting her thumbnail as she watched him. “To assist with the relief efforts,” he continued. Lupa took her thumb far enough away from her mouth that he could see her smiling, and he felt his own lips tugging upwards at the corners in response.

“That will be all,” he dismissed his officers, and many gave him confused looks before noticing the Inquisitor standing at the back wall. Once they did, they hurried out, carefully shutting the doors behind themselves; all except for one oblivious man, who left the door to the solar open. Cullen knew he would, and followed behind to shut it wearily himself.

Maker, he was tired, but his stomach was fluttering nervously with anticipation for some reason, making him feel strangely awake.

When the door latched shut, he leaned on it, his head hanging between his shoulders. Lupa’s aura stretched to fill the room, and all the locks slid loudly into place. She felt as antsy as he did, and he was relieved when she pulled her aura in tight again.

“There’s always something more, isn’t there?” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Wishing we were somewhere else?” Lupa asked him, her voice teasing but heavy. He stood up straight to look at her finally, and what he saw in her eyes made his stomach drop in the most agonizing way possible.

He chuckled at her. “I barely found time to get away before,” he told her. It was true; he’d had a hell of a time making sure he was able to take the week to see to Honnleath.

He turned and started to walk away from her, back toward his desk. All day, he had been thinking about the two of them, the future; seeing Kieran and Alistair had set a fire in him, and he didn’t want to douse it. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready to bring it up yet, but the words were out before he could think about them.

“This war won’t last forever,” he began. “When it started, I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival. But… things are different now.” He turned to look at her again, only to find her halfway across the room to him already.

“What do you mean?” She stopped when she reached his side.

“I find myself… wondering what will happen after,” he admitted to her, afraid that she might scream, or run, or blanch; she just stood there, her expression unchanging, and listened. Cullen wasn’t sure which was worse. He reached up and cupped her face gently as he continued, spurred on by the warmth in her eyes at the contact. “When this is over, I won’t want to move on… not from you.”

She didn’t say anything, simply watching him, and he dropped his hand from her face, fear welling up in his chest and constricting his lungs. He turned away from her, finding something on his desk to fiddle with so he would seem unaffected. “But I don’t know what you – that is, if you, uh-”

He started when she pulled his hand away from his desk and slipped into the small space between him and it, not so dissimilar from that first intimate moment that had almost happened on the battlements. “Cullen,” she answered him, and the way she said his name, so tender, melted away all of his fear. “Do you really need to ask?”

He somehow stepped closer to her in the small space, and she put her hands on the desk behind her to hoist herself up to sit on the edge. He smiled in his relief. “I suppose not. I-”

She tried to sit a little bit further back on the desk, her hands going out widely beside her so she could lift herself up, when she grazed the side of an empty wine bottle and sent it crashing to the floor. It startled both of them, and they stared at it for a whole five seconds before looking back at each other.

Maker help him, but he _loved_ this woman, more than anyone or anything he had ever known. He still hadn’t told her yet; he was terrified of learning that she wasn’t as invested in this as he was, but in that moment, he didn’t need her to say it. It was there, her still pond blues so full of it behind their apology, and he was tired of waiting, tired of being a gentleman, tired of wearing these breeches which were now far too constricting in his need for her.

He smiled and shook his head before leaning over and sweeping everything else off the ends of his desk with a forearm, leaving it bare except for his map of southern Thedas, which was fastened down and spanned the whole desktop.

Lupa giggled at him, her eyes lidding, when he spun her around and climbed onto the desktop over her. She slowly pushed herself backward as he walked her back, until he was entirely on the desk with her; she let her head and shoulders fall back with a dull _thunk_ as he flattened his hips out over hers, one knee between her own, and ground himself into the flat at the top of her hip as a gloved hand found one small breast.

She arched slightly under his touch. “I should – I should soundproof,” she told him a little breathlessly.

“Won’t matter,” he told her as he pressed a kiss to the jumping pulse in her throat. “My windows don’t close, and there are holes in my roof.” He reached down for the bottom hem of her shirt, and she put her arms straight up over her head so he could pull it off, leaning forward so he could get it past her shoulderblades. “Besides, I want the whole Keep to hear you when you’re screaming my name.”

She froze, giving him that irresistible combination of raised eyebrow, cheeky smirk, and cocked head. “And what happened to our private affairs staying that way?”

He ground his hips into hers one more time before pulling his knees beneath him so he could unlace her pants and pull them down. “They all know already,” he answered. “We may as well make a statement.”

She laughed openly and lifted her hips when she felt the ties of her pants go loose, and he carefully peeled them off, throwing them inside-out across the room. She pulled him back down in a scorching kiss, then, and he felt her hands trying to unbuckle the clasps at the sides of his breastplate.

A door rattled loudly, and they froze, both holding their breath.

“Shit,” came a man’s voice.

“Why exactly did you drag me back here with you?”

“I have an important question I just thought of, and thought you might want to hear the answer. If I wait until the morning to ask, I’m going to forget.”

Cullen sighed, but Lupa smirked at him, stretching her aura to unbuckle his armour for her when her hands failed her. He sat back on his knees to pull it off.

“Did you not see the Inquisitor?” asked the second man. Cullen was too distracted to immediately recognize the first voice as the Captain who had failed to shut the door behind himself.

“What does the Inquisitor have to do with anything?”

“Just how daft are you?”

Cullen smirked at Lupa, and threw his breastplate across the room. It landed with a metallic crash, and Lupa giggled loudly.

“Oh.”

Cullen removed the rest of his armour and under layers when Lupa reached for him, tossing each piece across the room to join the growing pile of discarded clothes there.

“Just tell me, and _let’s go_. I’ll remember for the morning. Besides, I don’t want to hear any more of _that_ ,” the second voice said as Cullen’s armoured bracers clanged against the wall, one after the other.

“Good idea.”

Cullen kicked his boots off as their voices retreated, leaving them close to the desk since there was shattered glass all over the floor. Lupa snapped her aura again, and the lacing came out of his breeches completely, landing in a coil on the desk.

He wiggled out of them, and then the two of them readjusted on the desktop again so that he could get both of his legs between hers. They were still in their smalls, both of them; he realized that she was wearing the exact same set she had worn for that game of Wicked Grace back in Haven – well, not the same set, but one that looked just like it. The deep burgundy made the copper-gold lines on her flushed skin stand out sharply.

She sat forward to kiss him again, their teeth clashing as their tongues fought for dominance, and he reached behind her to unclasp her breastband. She shrugged out of it and threw it across the room, leaning back again as he kissed his way down her stomach to remove her smalls with his teeth.

She gasped as they scraped the top of her hip, and she bent at the knees, bringing them together in front of him so he could pull them down without ripping them. He kissed his way back up the inside of one of her legs, stopping just short of the crease to straighten up and look at her.

She looked… stunning. Her hair was fanned out behind her, stuck behind her shoulders; her eyes, their blue usually so cool looking, were scorching hot, half hidden behind heavy lids framed by thick lashes; her lips were swollen, partially from their desperate kisses, partially from the constant abuse her teeth were giving her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue peeking out for a fraction of a second each time she dragged it in. The tattoos all over her skin almost looked luminescent, giving her a warm glow he had never noticed before.

He remembered seeing her that morning, passed out cold, and how she had looked like _just Lupa_. Now, seeing her here, spread out on his desk, he decided that she looked like _everything_ : the Herald, the Inquisitor, the Scion of the Elves.

Like _his_ Lupa.

She leaned her head forward and pulled her hair out from behind her shoulders, leaving the side of her neck exposed, and Cullen leaned in to kiss it reverently.

She made a little satisfied noise in her throat, one that he craved, and he followed it up with another kiss, hoping to elicit the same noise from her again.

“So gentle,” she murmured. “I thought you were going to make me scream?”

He pressed his lips to her collarbone one more time before stretching his arms and locking his elbows so he could look at her. “I don’t think I need to be rough to do that.”

He wouldn’t be. Not this time, this very first time, unless she demanded it. This time, he wanted everything to be _perfect_.

She didn’t say anything, instead making another contented noise, this time deep in her chest, and he clasped his teeth around one of her peaked nipples while one of his hands swept down her side to explore her core.

He smiled when he heard her suck in a shocked breath as one of his fingers brushed against her already swollen nub; her knees were so wide on either side of him that her folds were parted, leaving him a clear path to her entrance.

She jerked when he pressed his finger into her, her hands flying to his stomach. The feeling of her soft, slender fingers against his bare skin made his groin muscles clench tight, and he twitched against the confining fabric of his smalls, which he still hadn’t got rid of. He pulled his finger out of her, growling his approval at how wet she was; he kissed her bellybutton, about to add a second finger with the first, when she dug her nails into his stomach, making him hiss and look up at her.

She sat forward, her hands wandering to the waistband of his smalls. She pulled them down as far as she could reach, grabbing his throbbing erection boldly when it snapped past his waistband, smacking him in the stomach. She gave him a few careful strokes, sending a shiver down his spine, before letting him go to trail her hands up his side and around his shoulders, pulling him back down in a kiss.

He could feel the warm skin of her stomach against the large vein that ran along the underside of his shaft as she pulled him down flush on top of her. He sucked in a shocked breath of his own as he rolled his hips into her, the sensation making his eyes roll. If just her skin felt this good, imagine what the wet heat of her core would feel like-

The sooner he got rid of his smalls, the sooner he would find out; he broke their kiss to kick them off, flattening out on top of her again when he felt them come loose from his ankle. He tried to put a hand between them a second time, but she stopped him, using her magic to hold them down on either side of her shoulders.

“No playing around, Cullen,” she told him. “I have waited too long – I want you, right now, and I will not hear any arguments to the contrary.”

He growled, unable to keep himself from rolling his hips into her again, but he lifted them just enough to find the valley between her folds, pressing his exposed and sensitive tip against her swollen nub, following the crease until he hit her entrance.

He wasn’t even inside her yet, and he was sure this was going to be an embarrassingly short event; his tip was already coated with her fluid, and it took everything in him not to just ram himself into her. She was always so tight around him when he would use his hands, and she was so petite – was he going to hurt her? He hadn’t considered it before now.

She arched her lower back in protest when he didn’t move, flattening out a moment later with an aggravated huff, making him chuckle at her.

“Why – Why aren’t you-” he could see her struggling over the words, but he thought he got the gist of what she was trying to ask.

“I’m trying to – regain some measure of control,” he admitted honestly, “and I’m afraid I’m going to – to hurt you.”

“Gods, Cullen, _please_ , I don’t care if it hurts, I just – _oh!”_

He slid into her slowly, closing his eyes as they both moaned loudly together. Her walls clamped down around him tightly, almost painfully, and when he was as deep as he thought he could go, he opened his eyes again to look at her.

Her eyes were still closed, and her brows were pulled together, forming a little dimple between them, but he recognized the look as one of pleasure. He didn’t move again right away, taking in the overwhelming sensations: the sight of her beneath him, the feel of her around him, the sound of their ragged breathing, and the smell that was quickly surrounding them.

This was as close to her as he could get, and the realization of it made his chest constrict with a well of emotion so strong he thought he could cry. He had never felt so connected with someone before in his life, so in love, so in lust, so full of desire.

Her aura expanded rapidly, no longer under her control, and he could feel the same jumble of emotions running through her in it, spurring him to move.

He pressed a kiss to her pulse as he slowly pulled his hips back, almost all the way out of her. She made a sound of protest, but then he sank back into her, the feeling even more powerful than the first time.

“Oh, Maker,” he whispered against her neck as he shuddered.

“Oh, _Maker,_ ” she echoed, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

He took his time, keeping their pace slow, unhurried, but there was a roaring fire between them that couldn’t be ignored, amplified by her aura. It made every little touch, every tiny movement, feel monstrous, and Cullen had to stop himself a few times so he wouldn’t topple over the edge without her.

“Are you okay?” he managed to ask her as her walls clamped down around him again, threatening to scatter his careful control for the millionth time.

“ _Okay?”_ she mimicked as she dug her nails into the sensitive skin of his rear, pulling him further into her, her voice sounding almost scandalized. “ _Mythal’enaste,_ Cullen, you’re – this is _incredible_ , please just – keep doing-” she cut off with a loud, deep moan as he leaned down to capture one of her nipples with his teeth again.

He felt it, then: the sharp intake of breath, and the subtle change in the way her inner walls constricted around him. He struggled to keep his pace even, knowing she was close and loved the slow, torturous burn.

Every exhale was a louder cry than the last, from deep in her chest; her nails were scraping painfully down his back, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Cullen could feel the heat building in him, his groin tightening as he pulled back and pushed into her again, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself this time. He was afraid of leaving her unsatisfied, though, and he finally reached a hand between them to rub light circles to the sweet spot between them while his teeth carved a path down her neck to her collarbone.

She was shaking violently beneath him, and her eyes flew open, a hand leaving his back to thread into his hair, pulling it hard. “ _Cullen!”_

And then she was undone, her entire body tense, only her rear and her shoulders connected with the desk as her spine arched and her head tipped back to let the carnal scream of his name escape her throat. Her walls were quivering around him tightly, but it didn’t matter; the combined sensation of her coming apart around him and the sound of her voice as she quite literally screamed his name like he said she would sent him crashing through the waves of pleasure with her, a quieter, deep moan of his own escaping him as he spilled himself inside of her.

They collapsed together only moments later, their breathing heavy and deep, the silence around them ringing. The room around them smelled like a strange mix of sex and ozone, but Cullen had to admit that he was grateful she hadn’t almost conjured a thunderstorm this time.

She still had a strong grip in his hair, and she pulled on it, forcing him to lift his head from where it was resting on his shoulder to look at her. She stretched up for another long kiss, tightening her legs around his to keep him from sliding out of her.

“That was-” Lupa tried to say when they broke, but she didn’t finish her sentence.

Cullen could feel his tired groin muscles relaxing as his heart was swelling in his chest, leaving him full of all the affection he could possibly ever hold. He was exhausted, and had to bite back a yawn. “That was… perfect.”

She smiled at him, taking her hand from the back of his head to brush a stray curl back with the rest. “You know, ever since I’ve met Dorian, all I’ve heard from him is about how _legendary_ Templar stamina and endurance are.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” She purposely clenched the muscles in her core around him, and he could feel himself waking up again. When she ran a single fingertip down his throat, all the way to his navel, he felt his groin muscles tightening up in response. She hummed her approval. “I wasn’t entirely sure whether I should believe him or not.”

Cullen chuckled. “Oh, I’ll show you _legendary Templar endurance._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Alistair and Morrigan are being shipped here. Seriously, I got nothing but awkward UST vibes from them in Origins, despite how much they bitched about each other constantly. 
> 
> I wanted to write this scene from Cullen's POV so badly, so I did. Please let me know if you enjoyed it or not! I'm really happy with the way it turned out. 
> 
> And thanks for your patience! Mass Effect is awesome. I'm sorry it's getting in the way of regular updates.


	37. Chaos Be Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let this chapter be a lesson, kids, on why it's important to write regularly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a Morrigan/Alistair vignette that fits nicely between the last chapter and this one. Feel free to give it a read, too, if you'd like!

Lupa woke suddenly the next morning, shocked by her surroundings for a moment before relaxing back into Cullen’s mattress. She breathed deeply as a wide smile spread across her face, taking in the smells around them: the damp, earthy wetness after a hard rain, and her own sweat mixed with Cullen’s. There were vines crawling up his walls, and the holes in his roof were dripping, the water splashing quietly into his full bathtub.

She remembered laughing loudly when the thunder boomed and the rain poured in; Cullen had mentioned being grateful that she hadn’t formed a stormcloud in his office, and instead she called a full thunderstorm over Skyhold.

When the two of them finally ran dry, shaking and exhausted, they both fell into a deep sleep; so deep, that Cullen had spent the entire night without a single dream. It wasn’t even that he _wasn’t_ dreaming, it was that he was so deeply asleep that he _couldn’t_.

He snored quietly in her ear, making her hair flutter and tickle her neck. She giggled quietly to herself; maybe he’d sleep so well that he’d let her tire him out more often.

Lupa slowly and carefully flipped over so she was laying on her back, Cullen’s arm a deadweight thrown across her. She could finally get a good look at the sky through the hole in the roof across the room, and saw the first touches of pink, signalling the dawn. She laid there until the room brightened some more, and then she slipped out of bed.

Immediately, her legs threatened to give out from under her; they were exhausted, the muscles weak and aching. She registered a little raw discomfort in her core, but nothing offensive. She rolled her shoulders, and felt the bruise that had settled between them from when she had pushed her shoulders hard into Cullen’s desktop the night before.

She condensed the moisture in the air in front of her, making a sort of makeshift looking glass, and took in the faint marks from the pinch of his teeth down her neck and across her collarbones, healing them without any effort, and then she carefully climbed down the ladder to retrieve her clothes. They were chilly and damp, so she dried them quickly before slipping into them, looking forward to the bath she’d be able to take after breakfast.

Lupa gathered all of Cullen’s discarded pieces of armour and held them together tightly in a ball of arcane energy, pushing them back up the ladder ahead of her. She fixed the dent in his breastplate from when he threw it across the room, but it was scratched, and she made a mental note to let him know he needed to send it to the smith to have it repaired.

He shifted abruptly on the mattress, and Lupa padded over quietly to make sure he was okay. He must have slipped into a night terror as he was waking up; his brow was furrowed and creased in the middle, and he thrashed again, the blankets slipping down his stomach and pooling across his hips, leaving his entire upper body exposed.

Lupa sat back down on the side of the mattress and put her hand lightly in the middle of his chest. His eyes flew open and he started to sit up, panting, before realizing he was awake and sinking back into his pillow, screwing his eyes closed and shaking his head slowly to dislodge the images she was sure were still playing behind his eyes.

“Ir abelas,” Lupa whispered to him, her hand still on his chest. “So much for having an entire night’s sleep uninterrupted. Was it a really bad one? You were thrashing around.”

Cullen swallowed thickly and opened his eyes to look at her again. “You know it.” They stared at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, and then Cullen sat up on an elbow, a frown forming on his face again as he reached for the side of Lupa’s face with his other hand. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Lupa laughed kindly. “As if I don’t do that all the time already. You can let me worry about you, you know,” she admonished him softly, “even if it’s just a little. Still a good morning, though? Despite the dreams?”

His face relaxed as he smirked and chuckled at her raised eyebrow, his thumb tracing the soft line of her upper lip. “It’s perfect. It always is when I wake up next to you.”

Lupa’s heart melted with the syrupy affection, and she leaned forward to nuzzle her forehead against his. He took his hand from her face and placed it behind her head, holding her in place. “You are…” Cullen sighed, and his eyes fluttered closed contentedly. “I have never felt anything like this,” he admitted finally.

Lupa smiled. “ _Ar lath_ – I love you,” she corrected herself. “You know that, right?”

The words had tumbled out of her before she could think, before she could bite them back like she’d been doing for weeks before now. There was no hesitation from Cullen as he smiled widely at her, his gaze a little lidded.

“I love you, too.”

They bent together for a soft kiss, and when they broke, Cullen heaved another contented sigh and laid back down against his pillow, eyes closed and the ghost of a smile still on his lips. Lupa stayed where she was on the edge of the bed, and groaned. “Do I _have_ to go to breakfast?”

Her stomach immediately protested with a loud rumble, making Cullen laugh. “Why don’t you want to?”

“Because Dorian will be there waiting for me,” Lupa explained, “and he’ll take one look at me and make a _huge_ scene.”

“I think you’ll regret not eating more than the scene he’ll cause.”

Lupa was silent for a few seconds before sighing defeatedly. “You’re probably right.” She got up and strode over to Cullen’s tub. The water was surprisingly clean, so she set a small fire rune in the bottom to warm it for him before moving back down the ladder.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said absently. “Oh, I fixed the dent in your chestplate, but it’s badly scratched – you should probably take it to Harritt. I’ll clean up your office before I leave, too… do you want me to leave the doors locked?”

“No, we should probably open them back up again,” Cullen told her. “My soldiers are likely very confused, and they won’t come up.”

Lupa nodded and descended the ladder again. Putting Cullen’s desk back in order took little more than a stretch of her magic; everything gently floated back to where it belonged, the papers even stacking fairly neatly in one corner. She walked over to take a look and make sure everything was properly in place, and snorted when she spotted the large stain right over Val Royeaux.

“What?” Cullen’s voice drifted down from above as she heard the floor protesting under his weight.

“You’ll see,” she called back up, letting her magic slide the bolts on all the doors, allowing them to slowly swing open. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

She didn’t hear his response as she stepped out toward the solar. Romulus was on the other side of the walkway, his tail thumping against the stone as he waited for her to reach him, and when she bent to kiss the top of his snout, he gave her a sniff-down before giving a strange canine hum of approval.

They entered the main hall, and Dorian instantly stood. Lupa took a deep breath, and walked over to where he was waiting.

“Hurry up and eat – you are going to tell me _everything_ ,” he demanded before she was even done sitting.

“How do you just know this stuff, Dorian?” Lupa asked curiously. “Are you sure you’re not a Rivaini seer?”

“It’s obvious to anyone with eyes, love,” he scoffed at her as he watched her eating. She was going as slowly as she possibly could, just to infuriate him, and it looked like he knew it. “Firstly, you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Secondly, you came from the direction of his office. Thirdly, you actually smell bad for once – I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Thanks, Dorian, I appreciate that,” Lupa managed around a mouthful of toast.

Dorian continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Fourthly, there was a thunderstorm last night – there’s no way we should have gotten one here naturally. And fifthly, my plants were horrifically overgrown this morning. The thunderstorm and overgrown plants point to a lack of control over your aura, which is usually tied to extreme bodily sensation, either pain or pleasure. The other previous factors only cement my theory that since you clearly didn’t spend the night alone, you must have had a good time.

Lupa just shook her head and laughed. “See?” Dorian asked haughtily. “And I wasn’t wrong. Now hurry _up_ , I’m dying here, you know!”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen finally slipped into a seat next to Lupa about fifteen minutes after she had left. Breakfast was already almost over, and she smirked at him when he sat down.

“ _Good morning,_ Commander,” Dorian said to him as he grabbed a plate of toast and a couple of sausages. The mage finally sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, stealing the last few bites of bread from Lupa’s plate and stuffing the whole thing in his face unceremoniously. He put a hand over his mouth as he chewed, and when he finally managed to swallow it all, he stood up.

“Alright, you’re done eating – we are going upstairs,” he told Lupa, very seriously. “ _Now.”_

“Mythal’s mercy, Dorian, okay – I’m coming.”

Dorian was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for Lupa to come around to his side of the table. Once she reached him, he grabbed her hand and all but dragged her across the hall to her room. Cullen chuckled when he saw Lupa throw him an exasperated look over her shoulder before the door swung shut behind her.

“What a hypocrite,” Bull muttered almost affectionately as he sat in the same seat Lupa had just been occupying, reaching out and grabbing the entire platter of sausages for himself. “I mention anything about our sex life, he gets all upset and complains that I have ‘no discretion.’ You and the Boss finally get around to fucking, and he wants to know every detail.”

“Oh, you finally stopped dancing around each other?” Cullen countered.

Bull’s laugh boomed through the hall, and Cullen choked when the Qunari slapped him between his shoulder blades. “That’s real rich, coming from you, Cullen. Seriously, how long have you two been official for?”

Cullen just shook his head and stood to return to his office. He was sure there was work waiting for him.

Romulus had stayed behind when Dorian dragged Lupa off, and the wolf took up a place at Cullen’s side as he wound his way back to his office.

“Why didn’t you go with Lupa?” Cullen asked curiously.

Romulus snorted, and told him he didn’t want to be bored with the details two-legged mating all morning, which prompted a deep laugh out of Cullen.

“Fair point,” Cullen answered, “though I’m not sure I’ll be better company.”

They walked in silence through the solar, the Commander exchanging a terse nod with Solas on the way. The elf had certainly been acting strangely lately…

Cullen was busy thinking about it as he stepped back into his office, and didn’t notice Cole sitting on the edge of his desk right away; the boy had his big brimmed hat on, his chin to his chest as he swung his feet and tapped a quick staccato on his knee with one hand.

“Hello, Cole,” Cullen said loudly, not moving.

Cole looked up at Cullen with his strangely piercing watery, icy-blue eyes. “Good morning, Cullen. You spilled something on Val Royeaux,” he commented casually. “I put your cup of coffee over it so your soldiers wouldn’t think you’re clumsy. I didn’t know you were clumsy.”

“I’m generally not,” Cullen answered as he continued to cross behind his desk. He picked up his coffee mug and almost dropped it right away – so _that_ had been what Lupa was laughing at.

He’d never be able to look at the heart of the Empire the same way again.

He hastily put his mug back down where Cole had left it. “Thank you, Cole.”

“Glowing, glorious, gilded, I’ll give her whatever she wants. Herald, Inquisitor, Scion, _mine_.” Cole had cocked his head strongly to the side, like a mabari puppy listening carefully.

Cullen didn’t say anything. Cole likely didn’t understand what he was hearing, and as long as he didn’t ask Cullen to explain, he didn’t have an issue.

“Safe and solid, protecting and proud,” Cole continued after a moment of silence. “When you’re alone, you’re louder, but not as loud as the others, like Varric – but you sound like quiet, softer, stronger when she holds you.”

Cullen, again, didn’t respond. He… well, that’s exactly how he felt, wasn’t it? When was the last time he had even _thought_ about lyrium? He had been too busy thinking about her, and when she was with him, he felt strangely whole.

“I don’t know if I helped,” Cole pouted.

“No, Cole, you did, really,” Cullen assured the boy.

Cole nodded. “Meredith tried to chain you tighter, but you broke the chains a long time ago.”

Then Cole disappeared before Cullen’s eyes, and Cullen was left alone with Romulus to choke on the sudden tears of relief that were threatening to break his stern, professional mask.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa slid into her seat at dinner with a sigh.

She had just come home a couple of days ago, and already she needed to leave again. After bathing during Dorian’s interrogation this morning (it had been the perfect payback for his stubbornness – the horrified look on his face as she stripped down and slowly readied herself for her bath was one she hoped she would never forget), she had gone to talk to a bunch of her other companions.

Not only did she get to meet Bianca (the _real_ Bianca), she had learned that Cassandra had found the missing Seekers, and that Bull had somehow managed to gain them a chance at an alliance with the Qunari.

She had called all of them together, along with Dorian and Krem, and they had hashed out their travel plans. When everyone was happy, they went their separate ways, preparing to leave right after breakfast the following morning.

Cullen and Dorian were both strangely absent for the moment, leaving her to eat alone; everyone knew that the seat to her right and straight across from her were always reserved. She was surprised when Alistair slid into Dorian’s usual place next to her.

“Hello! Could you hand me that cheese platter?” he asked hurriedly. Lupa reached over to pass it to him, and he took it from her with a nod of thanks. “Hope no one else wants any.”

Lupa laughed as he stuffed a wedge of cheese in his mouth. “What a day,” Alistair continued around his full mouth. “Barris doesn’t know when to stop. And how about that thunderstorm last night? Weird, right? Everyone’s been slipping all over the practice field all afternoon – I definitely ruined one set of uniform pants.”

Lupa played with her food. “Yeah, that thunderstorm…”

“Don’t you play innocent with me, young lady,” Alistair answered her immediately, in his best dad voice.

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” Leliana’s voice drifted out from over Lupa’s other shoulder. “He still has ice two inches thick on all the surfaces of his room.”

“What? How could you – you’re infuriating, Lel, you know that, right?” Alistair spluttered. “And how has it not melted yet?”

“Perhaps you and Morrigan can figure it out together later,” Leliana giggled as she continued past them towards Josephine, on the other side of the room.

“Oh? What’s this about Morrigan?” Lupa asked with a raised brow.

“Nevermind,” Alistair mumbled. “I’m going to go find Kieran.”

“Have fun, Daddy,” Lupa giggled at him.

Alistair looked like he was about to tell her off, but a grin spread across his face instead, and he just nodded at her before leaving again.

Lupa finished the rest of her dinner alone, thinking about the strange things that happened at dinnertime when there was room for her other companions to join her. When she was done, she immediately broke for her quarters so she could make sure she had everything in order for their trip.

She had everything laid out and was halfway through checking that she had everything she would need to go over when she heard the door inch open.

“It’s just me,” Cullen called as the door swung wider, the hinges creaking quietly in protest. Romulus padded up the stairs ahead of him, coming over to nose Lupa before settling in front of the fire. Cullen had his hands full with a small tray, and he set it down on the table. There were two steaming mugs of tea along with a small honeypot and a milk dish. She watched him wordlessly as he added a little honey and a touch of milk to one before bringing it over to her, using his free hand to hook a finger gently under her chin to tip it up so he could kiss her softly.

“Leaving again already?” he asked as he handed her the tea, looking at all the stuff she had laid out.

“It’ll take Corypheus a long time to gather up what’s left of his scattered forces,” Lupa answered, resigned. “I need to make the most of it while I can.”

“So what’s on the agenda this time?” Cullen bent to start rolling one of her shirts for her.

“A few personal favours from the crew, actually,” Lupa admitted. “I met Varric’s… I don’t even know what to call her. It’s not important, really, but she apparently has a lead on a large supply of red lyrium, and wants us to meet her in the Hinterlands. Then we’ll be going to Caer Oswin.”

“That’s… why Caer Oswin?”

“It’s where Cassandra’s tracked the missing Seekers to,” Lupa continued. “And then there’s the Qunari offering us an alliance.”

“I’m… not sure how I feel about that,” Cullen murmured. “I was in Kirkwall when the Arishok decided we all needed to be forcefully converted – letting them into southern Thedas doesn’t seem like a great idea to me.”

“The entire thing sounds suspect,” Lupa agreed. She remembered the way Bull had even been on edge just telling her about it. “From what Bull told me, they’ve requested a very small force – a small party of my choosing, and his mercs. We’re to go to the Storm Coast and help them take out a Venatori smuggling outpost, or something of the like.” Cullen stood to grab his mug of tea off the table, and Lupa took a sip of her own. “If they’re just trying to take out some Venatori, why do they need us? Why ask for me and Bull by name? Why not just send some diplomats? I think they might be trying to test Bull.”

“What do you mean?”

Lupa sighed wearily. “Well, he’s not exactly a very ‘Qunari’ Qunari, is he? He’s so lively, so… it’s a terrible way to say it, but he’s positively _normal_ ,” Lupa finally settled on. “People always say the Qunari are so severe, so humourless, but he’s not like that at all – I think he still follows the Qun, but in his own way. He’s so much an individual, instead of just a…how do you humans say it? A sheep?” She had never heard the expression before coming to the Inquisition, and it still confused her.

Cullen nodded his agreement. “Just stay on your toes, and be ready for anything,” he warned her, then shook his head. “I thought you going to help Dorian was bad enough… you know what the Qunari do to their mages?”

Lupa laughed at him. “And you say I worry too much.”

“I just have nightmares,” he tried to argue. “You could end up with your staff broken and your mouth sewn shut.”

She looked at him squarely for long enough that he started to squirm under the weight of her gaze. “There is significantly more to your problems than nightmares. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” he answered her with disbelief. “Not even the suggestion of a headache, and the usual aches and pains only started to settle into my joints about an hour ago.”

“Sounds like progress.”

“I hope so,” Cullen admitted. “I’m tired of constantly feeling like I’ve been trampled by every chevalier to exist since the Exalted Age."

Lupa frowned at him. “Is it really that bad?”

“Only when you aren’t here,” he told her.

“You’d better stay with me tonight, then. At least I can give you some more relief before I have to leave you again.”

Cullen smirked at her, and she could feel her pulse picking up when the scar on his lip tugged invitingly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Solas abandoned his breakfast when he saw Lupa and Cullen emerging from her quarters together.

Every time he thought he had come to terms with it, he would see them together, and it would make him shake, make his stomach turn uncomfortably, make him want to punch the Commander’s stupid shemlen face until it resembled nothing more than a bloody pulp.

But Solas was mature enough to know that in a hand-to-hand combat situation, the Commander would have the advantage in every way, so he kept his more base urges in check. He also knew he was being ridiculous.

Lupa came to say goodbye and to bring him up to speed before she left. The way she looked at him right before she left made his skin crawl; there was something horribly distrustful and wary in it, as if she expected him to attack her.

Well, he supposed he was probably more tense than usual.

He didn’t recognize the true source of the discomfort until Lupa’s father passed through his solar just before lunch.

“You look like the Dread Wolf’s caught your tail,” the other elf commented brightly. “Everything okay?”

Solas chuckled and smiled for the first time that day, even if it was humourless. The irony in Mahanon’s innocent comment was too perfect. “I will live. I worry about Lupa when she goes away and leaves me here.”

“You and everyone else she leaves behind,” Mahanon sighed. “She’s strong though – she’ll be fine.”

“She always seems to be,” Solas agreed, and the other elf continued on his way, leaving Solas alone with his thoughts and his paintbrushes again.

The Dread Wolf had, indeed, caught his tail, and then proceeded to claw his way into Fen’Harel’s thoughts, trying to corrupt him just as he did everyone else he came in contact with. The effect was far more subtle now, and hard to source, more difficult for Solas to recognize and fight on his own.

He only hoped he could hold out for a little while longer, until they could defeat Corypheus and retrieve his orb, and then he could leave to fight against the Dread Wolf in solitude.

Fen’Harel could never forgive himself for hurting others along the way.

He dipped his paintbrush into his bucket again, and cleaned up one of his lines on the wall. He wouldn’t give in, couldn’t give in, to the Dread Wolf.

Not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble, drabble, drabble. As I said, I neglected my writing for at least a week and a half, because ME2, and this is the sad result. 
> 
> Totally had the little scene with Cole set around a different line, as well, instead of the Meredith one - I thought it was an in-game thing Cole said, but I tried to look it up to be extra sure, and I'm glad I did, because I'm pretty sure I almost stole a line from someone else's fic. Whoops. 
> 
> Anyway, hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait. I'm hoping to not neglect the story for quite as long ever again.


	38. Demands Of the Qun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts sad, becomes very fluffy. Consider this my apology for the long wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I caved, and joined tumblr. If you want, you can follow me at lupalavellan.tumblr.com - good chance I'll follow back!
> 
> I know my notes usually come at the end of the chapter, but I've attempted to talk about Krem in this chapter. I would like to say that I hope I haven't done transgenderism any injustice or disrespect, and if I have, please please PLEASE let me know so I can correct it. It was never my intention to insult or belittle anyone.

Romulus curled his lip behind his helm at the retreating back of the strange qunari elf the others called Gatt.

“You okay?” he heard the Moustache ask softly, concerned, once the elf was out of earshot.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” The Qunari shook his head, trying to sound unaffected. It worked, but it was undermined by the scents Rom was picking up off of him: sadness, defeat, frustration, and betrayal. The last, he hoped, was not directed at his Sister.

She was standing perfectly still on the bank of the cliff, her back to them; giving them all the time to react, or to blame her, Romulus didn’t know, but he could feel the uncomfortable pit in her stomach as if it was his own.

Or maybe it _was_ his own?

The ship was still burning, and Romulus turned to go stand at his Lupa’s side as she watched it, saw the Venatori below starting to retreat. Her aura expanded rapidly, and the water below them swelled, unbelievably high, before rushing in to snag the Tevinter mages on the shore and drag them under, deep into the undercurrents so they could die slowly, and never be found again.

It was far from being satisfying, as far as revenge goes, since they seemed like nothing more than little toys animated by a young mage to giggle at all the way down there, on the beach. As the water quieted, pushing the ship back from the shore, the Qunari came to stand on Lupa’s other side, catching her as she slumped forward from the exertion of her magic.

“They couldn’t have pulled out of range in time,” the Qunari murmured. Romulus watched them, but neither of them was looking at the other, their eyes glued to the burning dreadnought out in the bay. “It won’t be long now.”

“Bull, when the dreadnought sinks-”

“Sinks?” the Tower finally looked at her for a moment, surprised, but also sad. Something small sparked and exploded on the long prow, drawing his attention back to the ship. “Qunari dreadnoughts don’t sink.”

And with that, it exploded. The sound was deafening, echoing back on the sheer rock faces around them; the light was blinding, making them all cover their eyes. A few pieces of shredded wood scattered around them, but most fell short of their vantage point, floating on the swelling waves.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Romulus smelled something peculiar on the air: a strange metallic sort of scent that was entirely unfamiliar to him.

He was busy trying to puzzle it out when the Qunari answered his question for him. “Packed stem to stern with _gaatlok_.” The Qunari heaved a heavy, laden sigh and thumped his giant palm onto Lupa’s tiny little shoulder, making one of her knees buckle. “Come on. Let’s get back to my boys.”

He turned away immediately, but Lupa stayed where she was, watching the wood float slowly onto the beach. Romulus looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the Qunari and the Moustache sharing a pained sigh. The big Qunari reached for the little mage’s hand and gripped it tightly for a few seconds, but just as Lupa began to turn around to go join them, they broke their grip and began to walk back the way they’d come from.

His Wolf Sister’s shoulders were slumped forward, and she looked and smelled exhausted. Romulus tried to give her something peaceful to feel, and she smiled in appreciation at him, but her stance and her scent didn’t change.

The Stone Child had been standing aside, separate, during the exchange between them all, but he took up a place at Lupa’s other side as they walked, staying a fair distance behind the other two.

“Well… shit,” he muttered, almost spat, and Lupa huffed a humourless sort of laugh through her nose.

“I can’t wait til we get home,” Lupa answered quietly. “This has been the single most depressing trip I’ve ever been on.”

“You can say that again. And I’ve been to the Deep Roads!”

They walked in silence for another few moments. “Creators, what have I done?”

“What’s best,” the Stone Child answered immediately.

“Really? I just sacrificed an entire ship of qunari, and likely pissed off an entire _race_ , to spare a dozen mercenaries.”

The Stone Child sighed. “Remember Kirkwall?” Lupa nodded slowly. “Having them here would just make it easier for them to bring reinforcements to convert and conquer. At least they’ll have a harder time of it now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Lupa answered after a moment of quiet thought. “Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

“Lupa, did you not hear the way he told that idiot elf that the Chargers are ‘his men?’” the Stone Child argued with a slow shake of his head. “I’d say you did the right thing in his books. He just needs time to get used to his new… title.”

What had that elf said he would be? A _Tal-Vashoth?_ Romulus wasn’t sure what that meant, but decided now wasn’t the time to ask.

The Chargers were waiting for them when they reached the camp. By the time Romulus, his Sister, and the Stone Child arrived, the Tower was in much better spirits; the astringent scent of alcohol was heavy in the air, but Romulus could still make out the steadier smell of affection from the Qunari.

“You worry too much, Rom,” Lupa murmured to him, and Romulus huffed out a long sigh. It made his Sister laugh, as it always did; apparently dogs always sound like the world is ending when they sigh like that. She went to work removing his armour, and when the last piece was gone, Romulus gave himself a good shaking out.

There was something about getting out of all the heavy metal that made him feel like a young pup again, and he tucked his tail as he darted around the camp excitedly, making all of the silly two-legs laugh at him. He tried to bark like the warhounds they preferred, but ended up sounding like he had contracted the winter cough; instead, he started making short howls and clipped yelps, which the Chargers happily echoed back to him.

He collapsed in a heap next to the roaring fire after a while, panting heavily, and when the Chargers started singing, he quietly tried to howl along. They encouraged him to raise his voice with scraps of dried meat, and he happily joined in, even throwing his paws over his ears to try to imitate their “Horns Up!” pose, making the group laugh uproariously.

He let them rub his stomach and massage his paws and ears for a good while, but finally, the exhaustion of the day caught up to him. He stood, a little gingerly, and approached the Qunari, who roughly grabbed a fistful of Rom’s fur on the back of his head to press their foreheads together, much the way Lupa would with him.

Romulus let them stay like that for a moment, and then, quick as a snake, darted his tongue out to lick the Qunari’s nose from tip to bridge.

The Qunari laughed and let Romulus go, wiping his nose dry. “Get out of here, you crazy old mutt,” he told Rom gruffly, and the wolf whined sadly before grinning at him for good measure before leaving.

He slipped into the empty tent his Sister was using and curled up on her bedroll, so it would be warm for her when she came to bed. The sounds and smells of the night still reached him, and he sighed again, content in the knowledge that despite the hard day they’d had, that everything would be alright.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa watched Krem shift uncomfortably in his armour a few bodies down the circle from her. She had never seen him out of that armour; he was even more dedicated to it than Cullen was to his.

Lupa had learned, just last night, about Krem’s gender identity… issue. She didn’t like to call it that, since it was hardly an actual issue, but her ignorant reaction to it certainly _was_.

She had asked, surprised, if he was a woman, and had immediately been put in her place. Which she had needed – she had no hard feelings about it. She had been more embarrassed about insulting him than she had been about the way they shut her down.

“Inquisitor?”

Lupa looked up to find Krem standing, a little unsteadily, looking down at her and offering his hand. She took it, and he pulled her up.

“I know it’s hardly the best use of healing magic, but would you be able to help me clear up some of my worse injuries?” Krem asked quietly. “It’ll make the ride back home tomorrow easier.”

“Of course,” Lupa replied instantly, and when Krem turned away to his tent, she followed only a step behind.

They ducked in, and Krem started unbuckling the clasps on his breastplate. It was off in a matter of seconds, and Lupa shamelessly watched him, fascinated, as he roughly pulled off the other layers to his armour.

Finally he was standing in front of her in nothing more than his chest wrapping: a strip of dark cotton tied off on his back in a flat knot, which he turned around and let her loosen for him.

“How do you get this undone by yourself?” Lupa asked as her fingers struggled.

“When the Chief is home, I get him to tie it and loosen it for me,” Krem explained softly. “When he isn’t, I get Grim to help.”

Finally the knot came undone, and Krem started to wind the fabric away, examining it as he did so. Lupa saw so many stitches in it, she wondered just how many times Krem had been stabbed in his lifetime.

The scars it uncovered were too many to count.

Krem pulled his pants off, too, until all that was left were his smalls, and then he turned around to face Lupa again.

He had such a soft figure, all round curves and delicate dips, but it was just… so wrong. This wasn’t the body that belonged to him. Strangely, the parts of him that seemed to fit were the ugly, deep bruises and the long cut on his calf – the parts of him she was here to heal.

“Krem, I need to apologize to you,” Lupa told him, finding his eyes, hoping hers would tell him just how much she meant it. “When I found out yesterday, I… I was rude, and I said some very unintelligent things-”

Krem was actually laughing. “You’ve never met someone like me before, have you?” he asked easily, and Lupa shook her head as she bent to examine his leg wound. “You did better than most.”

Lupa put a cool hand on his leg, and called on the magic she would need to mend his broken skin. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Krem told her.

“How do the others make you feel?”

Krem was quiet for a moment, waiting until she had moved to a purple bruise on his other thigh before answering. “Well, they say it’s uncomfortable for them to see me shirtless, because apparently tits don’t suit me,” he chuckled. “But I don’t think they see me as any less than a man, and it’s far better than most can say.”

“Would it bother you to say I share the sentiment?” Lupa asked worriedly as she examined a rib, which she thought might be cracked.

He laughed again, and winced as she prodded it. “Not at all.”

“Is that why you’re so attached to your armour?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” he admitted. “I can hide the blasted – Maker that tickles – the blasted curves behind it all, and people don’t really think twice about it. Easier that way.”

There was one last nasty bruise on the back of one shoulder, and Lupa tended to it in silence. When it was done, Krem sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Inquisitor. I owe you one when we get back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Lupa stepped over to the entrance of the tent again, deciding it was time for her to get to bed. She stopped short, though, and saw Krem pulling on a loose cotton shirt and reaching for a pair of matching pants.

“Krem?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

Lupa siled at him. “I’m glad you made it out of the Imperium.”

_Glad Bull found you and saved you. Glad you found a new family who loves you for who you are. Glad you became a part of our family, too._ She hadn’t said those things, but everything in the way Krem was smiling back at her said that he knew she meant them all.

“Me too,” he answered her softly, and with that, Lupa ducked out of his tent.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“You’re home!”

Cullen smiled at her, and he looked relieved, but Lupa was worried when she realized how pale he was. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his hairline, and he seemed to be scattered.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fi-” He stopped himself, pushing his curls back from his slick forehead and sighing a little aggressively. “I’m having a bit of a rough day,” he admitted to her quietly.

“Then take the rest of the day to yourself. That’s an order,” she told him firmly when he looked up and tried to protest. “Rom can go with you to find my girls. Tell them to bring up a cool bath to my quarters, and you can have a soak, try to break the fever I can see you’re fighting. I need to talk to Cassandra – will you be okay for a little while longer?”

He nodded at her. “Thank you.”

“I’ll come see you as soon as I can,” she promised, and left through the door to the tavern before he could try to argue with her about it, making her way slowly down the steps in the wall to Cassandra’s usual haunt.

When she got there, Lupa was surprised to see that Cassandra wasn’t there. She quickly checked up in the Seeker’s room, and a cursory glance around the smithhouse didn’t turn up any sign of her, so Lupa went back outside to wait for her on her little stool.

She was busy worrying about Cullen and whether he had actually done what she told him to when a familiar and altogether unexpected voice drifted over to her.

“Well, well. Fen’Harel’s Bitch has made her return.”

Lupa’s eyes went wide, too surprised by the sight before her to wince at the unfortunate nickname he'd used. “Revasan?” she breathed, barely believing her eyes.

“You didn’t honestly think a shemlen _mien’harel_ would be enough to take me down?” Revasan laughed. Lupa drank in the sight of him as he did: he was quite tall for an elf, actually, almost of a height with Cassandra, who was at his side; his hair was raven-black and straight as a bone, close to the same length as Lupa’s, left loose except for two small braids at his temples that circled around and met at the back of his head, leaving his long, pointed ears exposed; Dirthamen’s vallaslin was etched into his skin faintly, not as strongly coloured as most others, in order to help him when he was in town with the Traders; his clothes were simple and soft, but a little dirty, as if he’d been in a scuffle, hanging loosely from a frame she knew to be long and lithe, more flexible than a tree’s youngest branch, more deadly than a rose’s poisoned thorn. Where Lupa possessed a more raw lupine strength and fluidity, Revasan’s was distinctly feline, as was his appearance, with large, round eyes, all-seeing, a petite nose, and a narrow jaw. He sobered up after a moment, arched brows pulling together with a knot between them. “I was leading the city elves out of their Alienage and taking them to Starkhaven when the others fell under attack. I was told by the Keeper how to get here when I was done, and ordered not to go back to check on them.”

He had reached her and held out a hand to help her up. When she stood, he pulled her into a strangely warm and soft embrace, much like she imagined a brother would. In fact, he was the closest thing she’d had to a brother growing up – on the few occasions he was with the Clan, that is. He was their only ‘intelligence specialist’, as their Keeper would say, and that meant he was away from the Clan for excessively long stretches.

She didn’t know him well enough, despite that, to be truly excited, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved that at least one more got out.

“Did you listen to her and come straight here?” she asked as Rev let her go, placing his hands on her shoulders to appraise her.

“Of course not,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I will spare you the details of what I saw when I got to Wycome, but suffice to say that the threat there has been… eliminated. I gave our people what honours I could.”

“Thank you, Rev.”

“It is hardly worth any sort of thanks,” he answered her and dropped his hands. “I assume you came here seeking Lady Pentaghast, so I will take my leave. Inquisitor – My Lady,” he bowed to each of them in turn before turning away.

Lupa and Cassandra watched him until he disappeared into the main hall of the Keep.

“Welcome home,” Cassandra offered.

“Thank you,” Lupa answered. “Let’s go walk the gardens.”

They didn’t say anything to each other until they were out among the flowers. “How was your trip back?”

“Mostly uneventful, until I woke with Revasan counting arrows across the fire from me one morning,” Cassandra snorted. “I’d caught up to him, and was planning on keeping my distance, but he spotted me behind him.”

“Naturally.”

“I did not wish to trust him right away, but I couldn’t turn him away, either. Your father seemed happy to see him, but I was still uneasy. Once Leliana gave him the all-clear, though, I admit I felt much better,” Cassandra laughed, a little embarrassed.

“She’ll find him useful, at least,” Lupa replied. “I’ve heard he gets frequently mistaken for an Antivan Crow.”

“I can believe that,” Cassandra breathed, and then they fell silent for another few moments. “Lupa?”

“Yes?”

“What does ‘Revasan’ mean?”

Lupa thought the question an odd one, but didn’t press Cassandra. She had a peculiar expression on her face. “Hm… It doesn’t really have a direct translation,” Lupa mused. “I suppose, most closely, it would be ‘a place where freedom dwells’?”

Cassandra surprised her by laughing wistfully. “It is… a fitting name.”

“Oh?” Lupa recognized the look on the Seeker’s face finally: it was the same one she wore when reading _Swords and Shields_ , at the particularly fluffy, romantic, lovey parts.

Was the Seeker falling for her Clanmate?

Cassandra blushed furiously, and flustered, trying to take the conversation elsewhere. Lupa happily obliged, but sadly cut their time short.

“I have to check on Cullen – I sent him up to take a bath and get some sleep, he’s not doing well,” Lupa told her.

Cassandra nodded. “If you can spare the time tomorrow, Cap – Lupa, I would appreciate the chance to speak with you about the tome Lucius gave me.”

“Of course,” Lupa nodded. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Cassandra.”

“I hope the Commander feels better.”

“Me, too,” Lupa answered uneasily, before turning back to the main hall and up to her room.

When she finally climbed up the last few steps into her quarters, she found Romulus sleeping in front of the fire and Cullen snoozing in a freezing cold bath.

He startled awake when she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, leaving soft marks from the hard edges of her rings.

“Cullen, you’re burning up,” she told him, concerned. “You need to get some proper sleep.”

He sighed and stood, letting the water drip from his shoulders, reaching up to push as much water out of his hair as he could before stepping out of the tub. Lupa gave him a towel (Orlesians thought of _everything_ ) and he wrapped it around himself as he shivered, hard.

Once his feet were dry, he grabbed a robe that he kept in her room and went to sit in front of the fire. There was a quiet knock on the door, and when Lupa got up to answer it, one of her serving girls was on the other side.

“Your Worship,” she nodded. “The Commander asked for some tea and cookies – I had the kitchen staff brew extra and bring a second mug in case you returned before we got back with it.”

Lupa smiled. “Thank you, my dear. I think we’ll be okay for the rest of the night – you and the others can take the rest of the day to yourselves.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” the girl bowed and smiled when Lupa took the tray from her, and then she pulled the door closed again.

Lupa and Cullen sat on the floor with their tea only until their mugs were drained, and then she insisted he go to sleep. He got up and made his way over to the bed slowly, dropping his robe from his shoulders into a heap on the floor at the edge of the bed before pulling back the rich, down-filled blankets and collapsing onto the mattress. He closed his eyes, laying there on his back, and Lupa knew he must _really_ not be feeling well if he didn’t even want to watch her getting ready for bed. She was about to get into bed when she realized he may be sick in the night, and went searching for a bucket, placing it on the floor next to him by his head when she found one.

She stepped around to the other side of the bed and pulled back her corner of the blankets. When she eased into the mattress and pulled the blankets up over them, Cullen finally stirred, reaching over to wrap his arms around her and draw her close.

She settled back into his chest comfortably, and pushed a leg out of the covers before reaching up to pull her hair off the back of her neck. He was so _hot_ , she was already starting to sweat, and it worried her that he _wasn’t_.

He kissed the nape of her neck softly once her hair was out of the way. “I’ve missed you,” he told her, voice low. “I’m sorry I’m not in a better state to welcome you home.”

“You just worry about getting to sleep and breaking your fever, Ser,” she told him. “Is this withdrawal, or illness?”

“Withdrawal, I think,” he managed, shifting behind her to try to get more comfortable. He sighed dramatically, tickling the back of Lupa’s neck with his breath. “I’m so done with this. I’m tired of feeling sore and weak all the time.”

“I’m here now,” she answered him, craning her neck to try to look back at him. He was hugging her too close for her to see him, but he let her go just enough that he could stretch up to kiss her properly. He almost poked himself in the eye on the end of her ear, and it took all of Lupa’s willpower not to laugh at him.

“I know. I love you,” he told her through a yawn.

“I love you too, _da’mi_ ,” she replied immediately. “Sleep.”

He did, only a minute or two later. Lupa shifted, but he didn’t wake, and she closed her eyes once she was comfortable. Still, it took her a long time to get to sleep, the unbearable heat and her worry for Cullen keeping her from rest until the moon was high in the sky above her balcony, the only sounds in her room coming from the crackling fire and Cullen’s soft breathing.

Her last thought before drifting off was a simple wish that he would feel better come the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mien'Harel: rebellion, or a violent call to justice 
> 
> Gaatlok: Qunari blackpowder, gunpowder as we know it (in case anyone forgot)
> 
> So, the Fen'Harel's Bitch thing was something that only came up in passing before - much of the Lavellan Clan used to jokingly call Lupa that after she began learning from Fen'Harel. I imagine it was used rather venomously by Dane, and had become a source of great discomfort to her moving forward. Revasan uses it harmlessly, perhaps ignorantly. 
> 
> I'm really sorry this took so long. Man, the Citadel DLC, and then Hakkon coming out for PlayStation, plus working extra shifts leaves little time for writing. I hate updating so infrequently, because it's easy to forget what the story is about when there are a bunch of fics you're in the middle of reading, and this one isn't exactly easy to just go back to the beginning to reread if you forget what's going on. 
> 
> I'm going to be visiting family a few times this month, but my work schedule should at least be back to normal, so I'll hopefully be back to more regular updates very soon. Thank you so much for your patience, and don't forget - I love feedback! Let me know how I'm doing!


	39. Forget You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's not having so great a day in his fight against the lyrium. 
> 
> Warning for flu-like illness descriptions.

Lupa got about two hours of solid, restful sleep that night.

She woke suddenly to Cullen sitting upright sharply, a hand over his mouth as a retch built low in his throat. Lupa gestured quickly beside the bed and barely managed to get out the word _bucket_ before he retched again. Thankfully, he’d been able to grab said bucket in time.

She rubbed circles into his bare back until he was done. Romulus, knowing he could do little to help, just stretched his head up from where he was laying on the floor in front of the hearth to watch. When Cullen was done, she hushed his embarrassed apologies and fetched him a waterskin before putting him back to bed and replacing his dirty bucket with a clean one.

She took the dirty one out onto the northern balcony, overlooking the mountains, and dumped its contents over the edge. She resisted the urge to gag; it was disgusting, but she refused to even _think_ about letting anyone else do it.

When it was empty save for the last sluggish dregs that clung to the sides, she let her aura expand just a little, and concentrated, hard, on the air around her. Warm, moist air collected, and soon, it was raining on her little balcony.

She let the bucket fill with the rainwater, just enough to swirl it around some so she could rinse the sides and dump it over the railing again a few more times, until it was clean, and then she drew her aura in tight. The heavy cloud stayed, but the rain stopped and a gentle breeze stirred it, starting to dissipate it.

Lupa went back inside, using her magic to dry her hair. She hated doing it that way, because she always found that her hair would get _too_ dry and start to break when she did, but she wasn’t interested in sitting in front of the fire for another hour before trying to get back to sleep. When she crawled back in to bed, she checked Cullen’s temperature again – it had risen, and his skin was still dry, the light sheen she had seen on it the day before long gone. She forced herself to get under the covers with him, hoping her extra heat would help force him into a sweat, and tried to get back to sleep.

Romulus jumped up and settled at their feet, making _her_ start to sweat uncomfortably, and it took another three quarters of an hour before she started to drift off again.

Of course, the moment sleep started to claim her, Cullen sat bolt upright again, reaching over the side of the bed for his bucket.

Since he had expelled what was left of his dinner the last time, he had nothing but water to bring up this time, and little enough of that; when he was done, there was a small amount of bile, and nothing more. He started to apologize all over again, but she shushed him impatiently and forced him to lie down again before heading back out to the balcony to summon the rain.

The moon looked to be almost done its journey across the sky for the night – there would be another hour and a half, maybe two, before dawn. Lupa cleaned the bucket again and then left it out there to collect the rainwater before going inside to put on her robe.

She decided there was no point in trying to get back to sleep, and pulled a chair up in front of the warmth of her fire, along with a small book regarding the history of the first Inquisition, and settled in to wait for her girls to appear.

They did, earlier than she expected, only about half an hour later. She told them what she needed, and then went back to her reading.

They brought her everything, and quickly, though she hadn’t asked them to rush: a small bowl and a few clean cloths, so she could make sure he was able to drink something if he slept for too long, and so she could maybe try to cool his scorching skin; simple bread, without even any butter, so that he could have something in his stomach the next time he was sick; a large pot of that flower tea he liked, and some oat muffins for her to eat.

Cullen didn’t wake again, but Lupa was afraid to fall asleep in case he did. She gave up on her book and moved over to the desk, relying on Romulus to give her regular updates on Cullen’s temperature, which came to her in the form of heat searing the end of her nose, the sensation from Rom spilling over to her.

Her reports we stacked high, and the arduous task of sorting through them wasn’t exciting enough to keep Lupa from yawning every few minutes. When the breakfast signal tolled through the castle, she simply shifted her weight in her seat and re-inked her quill.

Josephine and Leliana came by together, and Lupa let them in to see Cullen. They left quickly, Josephine promising to send her a mug of something she called ‘coffee’, claiming Cullen usually drank it and that it would help her feel more alert.

They didn’t return, but sent her steaming mug of coffee up with Cassandra, who didn’t stay long either. Lupa asked her to talk about the tome the Lord Seeker had given her, but she insisted it could wait until Cullen was feeling better.

Lupa drank her coffee quickly, and ended up pacing her room restlessly for about half an hour after it was done, her heart racing and stomach turning. When she finally settled enough to sit in one place, she found she could breeze through her reports with relative ease.

She started when Cullen groaned on the bed, and he tried to sit up, but Romulus held him down. Lupa jumped up and crossed to him.

“How are you feeling?”

She checked his temperature herself while he spoke. “Thirsty. Drained. Am I shaking?”

Lupa held one of his hands between both of hers. Really, she didn’t need to – she could see the trembling in his muscles. “You are,” she told him, and he sighed in frustration, shaking his head and taking his hand back to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really, no,” he answered her before she held the waterskin to his lips for him. He tried to drink heavily, but she stopped him, making him take small sips instead.

He licked the last drops of water from his chapped lips when he was done drinking. “You should try to eat a bit of bread,” Lupa told him as she watched, worried about the way his eyes weren’t exactly focusing on her. “It’ll be better for you if you’re sick again.”

He just nodded, and she broke off small bites for him to nibble on.

He had another drink, of his tea this time, and then he was back to sleep within half an hour. Lupa shook her head in concern, the knot in her stomach magnified by the effects of the coffee, and tried to calm herself by realizing that sleeping was better than screaming and writhing from pain.

She went back to her desk to continue working, until Dorian came up to rescue her another half an hour later.

He had a bag over one shoulder, and a tray in both hands, laden with a bowl of broth, more fresh bread (though this one was warm, and came with butter), and an assortment of berries and tree fruit. He laid the tray down on her little coffee table, which they moved in front of the couch where it had taken up residence against the bannister.

“The broth is for that mess of nasty fluids,” he explained with a gesture in Cullen’s direction. “The rest is for us. Eat.”

Lupa did, tearing into the warm bread and grabbing a butter knife, filling Dorian in on the situation between mouthfuls.

“I wish there was something recorded about a Templar going off lyrium that we could reference,” Dorian murmured quietly.

“Me, too. This is terrifying – you know this could kill him? And it’s only been, what, a year? Year and a half?” Lupa sucked in a careful, steadying breath.

“He’s going to pull through, love,” Dorian assured her, reaching to grab one of her hands in his own and squeezing it reassuringly. “If anyone can, it’s him.”

Lupa just nodded. Now that she wasn’t just working to keep herself busy, she was letting the fears catch up to her.

Along with her exhaustion.

She yawned widely, so deeply she shook, and Dorian appraised her with a critical eye. “I am going to grab that chair and read in front of the fire,” he told her, gesturing to her armchair behind her desk in the corner, “and _you_ are going to lie down on this couch and take a nap. I won’t let him die on you, I promise.”

Lupa nodded, suddenly far too tired to argue. Dorian sat up and moved to her closet, rummaging around until he found a spare blanket, before snatching her pillow off the bed and helping her settle into the couch. “Have a good nap, love. I’ll wake you if there’s anything important.”

“Thanks, Dorian.”

She was asleep before she could hear his reply.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen woke again, and pressed his eyes closed more tightly at the offensive light that filtered through his eyelids. When he managed to open them, he was greeted to a sight both familiar and bizarre.

He seemed to be in the Inquisitor’s quarters, in her bed – this was perfectly okay by him, though he had to admit that he’d be happier if he wasn’t alone in it. When he looked around the room, everything had a much-too-bright, hazy, almost ethereal quality to it.

He could see the rays of light filtering through the stained glass of the western balcony, still high in the sky but inching slowly toward the dinner hour, painting colours across the too-soft carpet; the fire in the hearth was dying, its embers too bright for lifeless.

He felt power washing over him; much like the room he was in, it felt both familiar and foreign. He turned to find the source, drawn by the sound of quiet giggling, and saw two glowing forms curled around each other on the couch against the stairway bannister: a woman, resting her head in the crook of the man’s neck, under his chin, and sitting halfway in the lap of the man, who had his arms around her snugly, extending their circumference with a book they were reading together. They glowed, their power around them so strong it threw light out onto all the things around them in rays, like the sun outside through the stained glass, and Cullen shut his eyes in confusion.

They _looked_ like Lupa and Dorian, sitting there, but even _they_ weren’t that powerful.

He tried to sit up, until the blankets he was tucked in to fell off his shoulders, and he sucked in a shocked hiss of breath before immediately sinking back into the blankets up to his chin. Maker, it was _cold_ out there. He had thought that maybe he was dreaming, but he had never been cold in the Fade before.

“Cullen!” came a familiar voice, one that would normally belong to Lupa, but when he opened his eyes again, saw and felt the surge of power from the woman who was now leaning over him with a waterskin, he knew it couldn’t be her.

“An…” he cleared his throat and accepted a drink. The water was cold, refreshing, as it coated his parched throat so that he could speak. “Andraste?”

The woman went a little wide-eyed, looking at him for a second before turning to look at the man on the couch. He stood, taking a few steps closer to stand at the foot of the bed. “Maker, I… forgive me,” Cullen murmured.

“There is… nothing to forgive,” the Maker answered, his voice soft but commanding.

“You… you look like-” Cullen was still struggling to make sense of this whole ordeal. Andraste? The _Maker?_ What had he done to deserve _this_ sort of company?

“Of course we do, my child,” Andraste answered him as she reached up to brush his hair back off his forehead for him, her touch gentle. “This is familiar to you.”

He watched the two of them as they stood over him in silence for a few minutes, trying to gather his racing thoughts. The Maker turned his attention to Andraste after a few moments, and she silently offered Cullen more water.

Cullen took it gratefully, and she made sure he didn’t drink too quickly. “Maker… Andraste… Why?” he settled on. They were divine, omniscient; they would know what he was trying to say, wouldn’t they?

But they just stared at him sadly, waiting for him to elaborate. “I… I wanted to be a Templar – I believed so much.” Andraste reached up to fix his hair again, the back of her hand brushing his forehead. The way she frowned then had him worried – was he sick?

“And you did well,” the Maker assured him strongly.

“I tried, but… Solona… How could you ask that of me, Maker?” Cullen blurted out. “I had to – to put a sword through her heart-” His voice broke, and he watched Andraste frown more deeply; because it was Lupa’s face she was frowning with, he felt guilty for bringing it up, but he needed to try to get an answer. “I – she was the first person I loved, and you asked me to _murder_ her, in your name.”

They stayed silent, and in his frustration, he blurted out the rest. “Fine, I needed to be taught a lesson – it’s why I was summoned for her Harrowing, anyway. But then, you sent me to _Kirkwall_?”

“You learned there, though, my child,” Andraste answered softly. “You were able to grow.”

“That is not how _anyone_ should be helped to grow,” he spat, and he must have imagined Andraste flinching at the venom in his tone. “Now, this. Lupa, she – I have never known _anything_ …” he stopped and just stared at Andraste, who was wearing his lover’s face, a face he knew better than any other in the entire world, and a realization dawned on him. “She’s your _Herald_ – if you take her from me, from this world – please, haven’t I given enough? Can I not just have this one happiness?”

Again, Andraste and the Maker were silent, but Andraste placed a soft palm against his cheek. He let the silence stretch on for a moment, and then he sneered and pulled away from Andraste’s touch. “No, you can’t tell me that, can you? Can’t let your secret precious plan be announced to even _one_ of your devoted followers. I’ve done my best to follow you, even after all that you’ve asked of me, but this… this would break me.” He heaved a shuddering sigh. “She is… _everything_. A million Solonas, and then some. Please, if I could have just this _one thing_ of you, I promise, I’ll do _everything_ I can-”

Andraste’s palm was on his cheek again, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen down his face. A few more followed in silence, and she dried those, too. “Cullen, my child, you said it yourself-”

“Can’t reveal your plan. No promises. Right.” Cullen turned away again, this time all the way over onto his side, with his back to Andraste. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

He heard one of them sigh – he thought it might be the Maker, because he knew every sort of sigh Lupa could possibly have heaved, and it wasn’t a familiar sound to him. He closed his eyes and laid still for a few minutes before rolling over onto his other side.

Laughter rang out from the western balcony, and Cullen saw the Maker handing Andraste a short glass full of some sort of amber liquid. If his childhood stories were to be believed, it could be what was referred to as nectar; he had always been skeptical about it, but now he had seen it with his own two eyes, he couldn’t be so sure it _wasn’t_ real.

The two inclined the rims of their glasses together, and Cullen’s eyes slid closed when the tiny _clink_ they made when they connected to each other reached his ears.

The last sound he heard before slipping back into sleep was the rich, full-bodied laugh of Dorian’s that escaped from the Maker, drinking out on the balcony with His Bride.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Well, if I’m the Maker, then praise me that we’re able to think on our feet,” Dorian muttered as they escaped onto the balcony.

Lupa was shaking. Cullen’s admission about Solona had made her heart sink, but then…

_A million Solonas, and then some._

How she hadn’t smothered him and cried a million tears herself was a mystery, but it was a good thing she had kept her head.

Lupa wasn’t sure how Dorian ended up with a bottle of brandy and two empty tumblers for it, but he was pulling the stopper from the lid.

“Brandy? Really? You carried that up here in the same bag as your _books_?”

“ _Everything_ gets alphabetized, love,” he answered her as he chilled the glasses with both hands, handing her one when they were frosty. “ _Everything._ ”

They looked at each other for a moment in silence before laughing together. Dorian inclined his glass, and Lupa smirked, tipping her own so the rims _clinked_ together.

Then she put it to her lips, and shot it back like she’d seen him do so many times before. He watched her with raised eyebrows for a moment until she held her glass back out to him to refill it, and then he began to laugh, the tension from Cullen’s delirious ramblings leaving him in an instant.

“If I don’t have to see a good, strong man brought down to that level _ever again,_ it will be too soon,” Dorian sighed as he copied Lupa’s enthusiastic drinking.

Both Lupa and Dorian savoured their second glass before going back inside to continue where they left off with their book. They curled up together again on the couch, Dorian’s strong arms holding Lupa a little more securely than before. They stayed there silently for a few moments, and Dorian was busy trying to find their page when Lupa’s vision went fuzzy with tears.

They started to flow rather unexpectedly, but when they started, she couldn’t stop them. Her breathing was wild, shallow, erratic, and Dorian dropped their book again to hold her as tightly as he could, pressing the thin line of his lips to the top of her head as he rocked her back and forth in an effort to help her calm down.

When it was over, he reached up and dried her face for her, before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. “He is going to be _fine._ ”

Lupa nodded and tucked her head under his chin again. They stayed there like that for a little while longer, their book once again forgotten, just waiting for the Commander to wake again.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“ _He reached out to her, his hand finding the dip in her waist and sliding to the small of her back to pull her closer. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded._

_“‘But Ser, Antoine will be waiting for me!’_

_“He sighed, his free hand finding her soft cheek. He traced her upper lip with his thumb, and her lips parted a fraction at the touch. Her eyes slid closed as he spoke. ‘I think Antoine can continue to wait a little longer.’_

_“She drew in a shuddering breath, and then her hands found his chest, sliding over his shoulders. He bent down, and their lips came together –_ Really, Lupa, you’re going to ask me to continue reading this to you? Isn’t it bad enough that you wanted to read it in the first place?”

Cullen was still not quite awake, but Dorian’s voice, and then Lupa’s responding giggle, came through to him. He had no idea what they were talking about, the words mush in his brain, but knowing they were nearby made him struggle to surface.

It was harder than it seemed. He thought he felt the mattress beneath him shift as weight on it changed. “Of course I do! It’s so much more _fun_ when someone else reads it to you.”

“Shouldn’t your _lover_ be reading it? _Not_ your best friend, who, I might add, finds this entire written sexual experience to be highly off-putting?”

“Oh, come on, Dorian-”

“No, really, I mean it – I understand it’s necessary to keep the population’s numbers up, but how does anyone find it _enjoyable?”_

“Others could say the same about your preferences,” Lupa countered.

Silence permeated, and a soft, wet cloth came in contact with Cullen’s forehead. It helped him wake up, and when it disappeared from his forehead, he took stock of himself.

There was a soft glow filtering through his eyelids – he guessed from candlelight and a fire, not daylight. The mattress he was laying on was too comfortable to be his own, so that meant he must be in Lupa’s bed.

And Maker, it was so _hot_ in there, he was sweating harder than he had ever remembered sweating before, and he tried to fling the covers off of himself.

He was immediately stopped by two small hands grabbing his wrists before he could push the blankets farther than his navel.

“Whoa, there, handsome,” Lupa told him. “We’ve got company here.”

Cullen finally eased his eyes open. Lupa was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, looking calm and content as she let his wrists go to grab the wet cloth again, ringing it out so she could wipe the sweat from his face and chest.

“ _Lupa!”_ Dorian protested from the couch. “Did you _have_ to stop him? It would have been such a delightful distraction from this awful book you’re making me read.”

Cullen just laughed at him.

“Oh, and it’s good to see you feeling better, Rutherford. I knew a little withdrawal wouldn’t be enough to take you out! Let’s just try not to let it get that bad again, hm?” Dorian added absently, returning to the book Lupa was making him read with a look of abject horror plastered on his features.

“How are you feeling?” Lupa asked him.

Cullen thought a moment before responding, but his stomach answered her question for him. She just laughed and handed him a few stale slices of bread while she warmed a bowl of broth in her hands.

“Did I… uh, did I wake up at all?” Cullen asked. He had the strangest feeling he’d had a weird dream about the Maker and Andraste…

Lupa and Dorian shared a look so fleeting, Cullen was sure he imagined it. “The last time you woke, I gave you bread and some tea. It was still early in the day, before lunch. Do you remember?”

Cullen tried. “Not really, no.”

Lupa nodded, perhaps about to say something, when Dorian made an inarticulate noise of disgust from the couch.

“Do people seriously call it that? Maker, I’ll never be able to look at a cat the same way again.” Lupa snorted, and then Dorian slammed the tome shut. “Well, seeing as you’re awake, sane, and sweating profusely, I’m going to leave before I overstep my boundaries. I will see you both in the morning.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Lupa answered him immediately.

He looked at her warmly, softly, giving her nothing more in return than a smile before slipping down the stairs and closing the door audibly behind himself.

“Lupa?”

“Yes, _da’mi_?”

“I _really_ need to relieve myself-”

“Be careful,” she chastised him, “you’re still weak.”

He kissed her softly as he stood, his knees shaky. “And thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiled at him, and kissed him softly again. “How could I not?”

 

*                             *                             *

 

_Cullen looked around himself slowly. He was clearly dreaming, though this dream was light, almost weightless, unlike his usual nightmares which sat heavily on him._

_It was nighttime: the stars were twinkling brightly above him, as was one full moon, the other barely visible as a crescent halfway across the sky. Trees swayed in a gentle, warm breeze nearby, at the edge of a dense forest, but he sat cross-legged in a field of long, soft grass tamped flat, wearing simple leather pants and a cotton shirt. His hands and feet were bare, but clean, as if he had never left this spot in his entire life._

_He laid back and watched the stars and moons for a time, until he heard a twig snap at the edge of the forest. He sat up on his elbows, and watched her walk out from the trees._

_Solona Amell._

_She seemed to drift towards him, her feet barely ghosting over the grass as she approached him, unhurriedly. She was in a soft, simple longsleeved dress, the bright white fabric radiant in the dim light from the heavens. Her hair was left loose, falling in waves to her waist; he recalled seeing her braid it at night many times during his short stay at Kinloch Hold, and every morning it would come undone in those waves. It was soft brown, like rich Orlesian cocoa, her eyes warm and supple as new leather, her skin the colour of porcelain._

_“Cullen,” she murmured as she knelt beside him, facing him, a gentle palm resting against his rough cheek._

_Cullen swallowed and felt himself tensing. Had another wretched Desire demon come for him? No, that wouldn’t make sense – he didn’t still desire her the way he used to…_

_Did he?_

_Perhaps his heart was racing for another reason entirely._

_She smiled at him, and he looked at her, long and hard. He stared into her eyes, trying to will them to change to the purple he expected. When they didn’t, he cleared his throat._

_“Solona,” he answered. His voice was broken, pleading an apology without ever having to speak the words._

_She smiled at him still, and one of her knees gently slid between his. He sat up straight, and she placed her other hand on the other side of his face, drawing him down into a kiss._

_Their lips came together softly for a moment, and then Solona opened hers, a contented sigh blowing against Cullen’s face. He couldn’t help but respond in kind._

_It was a comfortable, slow kiss, their mouths opening and closing together, the feeling of each other’s breath in the other’s mouth. Cullen kept his tongue to himself, and so did Solona, both content to simply move together. Perhaps tasting and learning would come later._

_Cullen was unsure exactly how long this had gone on for when he felt the familiar and altogether forgotten swell of Lupa’s aura filling their glade. He drew in a shocked breath and pulled away to find her, but her aura was gone just as quickly as it had come._

_Cullen frowned, unsure of what had just happened, and took a moment to close his eyes and just_ feel _. Something was different in their environment, more secure, and he heaved a sigh of relief before looking up to stare at Solona again._

_She was flushed, her breathing a little shallow and ragged, lips swollen. Her hair was slightly mussed, making the pointed ends of long elven ears stand out between the soft waves._

_Cullen saw nothing out of the ordinary in her as she stared back, and bent down to press more kisses into her inviting lips._

_They took their time learning each other in this dream of his, but each time he opened his eyes again to look at her, something about her was different. And every time something changed, he forgot what that part of her had looked like before, feeling as if she had always looked as she did in that moment when he saw her._

_Stars exploded behind his eyes, finally, and a long, deep moan escaped him as their drawn-out coupling came to an end. Cullen collapsed over her petite frame, shaking. The woman beneath him giggled, and he smiled, pushing himself up onto his elbows to look at her._

_The woman beneath him was no longer Solona._

_In fact, as Cullen stared deep into Lupa’s still-pond blues, warm and inviting in her afterglow, he forgot about Solona Amell: her scent, her taste, her entire appearance. There was only the tiny elf beneath him, and the swell of affection that threatened to explode from the centre of his chest, constricting his lungs and making it hard to breathe._

_Lupa arched an eyebrow at him, and his smile grew. He bent down to kiss her, and started his thorough exploration all over again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was interesting. I don't think I really have anything to talk about here!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	40. To You I Give Dominion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW! Also an extreme fluff warning.

Cullen woke up slowly in the early hours of the morning.

Lupa was cradled into his side, a lonely foot thrown out of the covers to help her stay a little cooler without having to pull away from him entirely. He was wide awake, after all the sleeping he’d done the day before, so he simply laid next to her and watched her instead. Sometimes he would run a hand over her hair when she would shift, her dreaming tonight making her twitchier than usual.

When the serving girls started coming up with her bath water for the morning, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He thought about the dream he’d had, and tried to recall Solona, only to find that he suddenly… couldn’t _quite_ remember. Had she been brown-eyed, or was it hazel? And she wasn’t a redhead, was she? He swore she hadn’t been, but what was the _exact_ colour of her hair?

He obsessed over it for a while, but by the time Lupa’s serving girls had scratched behind Rom’s ears and descended the stairs for the last time, he had given up. She had been important to him, yes, but when he had _her_ , Solona was the last thing he wanted – or even cared about, for that matter.

Lupa finally went still against his side; she always went very still just before waking, so he went back to silently stroking her hair flat with a rough palm, fascinated as he always was by how soft and silky it was. It took her another few minutes, but then she whimpered sleepily and tried to pull herself in closer.

“Good morning,” Cullen murmured into the top of her head, placing a soft kiss there after he spoke.

She yawned. “Have a good dream?”

Cullen tensed; he had completely forgotten that she had slipped through for a moment at the very beginning of his dream. _Andraste save me from whatever I’ve done._

She giggled into his shoulder, and his confusion took over his fear, making him relax and shift so that he could see her face better. She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him quizzically. “I certainly hope it _was_ ,” she told him, sternly if not for her expression, “because I spent all night keeping Desires off of you.”

“You… You did _what?”_

“Well, what do you think happens ‘ _when a mommy and daddy love each other very much’_ in the Fade? You know, that scary place where all the nasty demons live?” she asked sarcastically, but not accusingly. “Dreaming desirously draws – _gasp! –_ Desire demons!”

Cullen looked at her dumbfounded for a few seconds, frozen in shock and fear. “You – are you alright?” he finally managed.

She laughed quietly at the look of horror he knew was on his face. “I am Master of the Fade, both in dreams and in the flesh. Have you forgotten? That Desire in Haven was only the first of many. After all, I am a _very_ talented mage these days.” She used her free hand to brush some hair off her face. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Excuse me for worrying about you fighting demons all night,” Cullen scowled. “What question are you talking about?”

“Was it a good dream?” Lupa repeated softly.

Cullen sighed and sat up, leaning over Lupa just enough that she flopped back down onto her back on the mattress. He traced the line of her jaw, her lips, her collarbones, and then started on her vallaslin as he started to explain himself to her. “Well… yes, it was.”

“She’s much prettier when she isn’t all perverted.”

“Indeed she was, but I… I can’t quite recall her anymore,” Cullen admitted. Lupa frowned, a genuine look of concern on her face, and her magic flared as she opened her mouth, possibly to offer to make sure _he_ was alright. He put a finger to her lips to quiet her, and he continued before taking it away. “I’m perfectly okay with it – it was very gradual. It was one little thing changing, every time I looked at her, and I thought to myself, _she’s always looked like that._ ”

Lupa tipped her head to the side, her best approximation of her usual curious chin tip when she was laying down, and he resisted the urge to press a mouthy kiss into the exposed skin of her neck. Barely. He continued before she could ask him anything. “Finally, I picked myself up off of her to take a look, and she wasn’t Solona anymore.”

“Who was she?” Lupa asked, voice barely a whisper, eyes showing an uncharacteristic fear. Did she really believe it could be anyone else?

He let himself lean over and kiss that spot on her throat, now, humming at her whimpered response to his touch. “Tell me,” he demanded of her, his voice dropping without him meaning it to, and she squirmed under his hand, “just who _you_ think it would be.”

“Well, there’s this one scout that keeps trying to walk in on u – _mmm_ -”

Cullen stopped her with a solid kiss, stealing her sarcastic words before she could finish them. He slowly climbed on top of her, using one knee to push hers apart, and she opened to him readily, her lower back arching subtly. He lowered over her, pressing her hard into the mattress, and she squirmed comfortably under him when he lightly bit the end of her ear.

“If you must know,” he murmured before leaning up on his elbows, just as he had in his dream, and she did just as she had, arching an eyebrow at him when he didn’t continue right away, “I was suspended, just like this, over _you._ ”

She flushed, the colour spreading from her cheeks all the way up to the tips of her ears, and all the way down to her little breasts, open and utterly, vulnerably exposed to him. “And what did you do?” she choked out, trying not to sound so moved by his words, her breathing coming in shorter gasps.

“Would you rather I tell you,” he asked her, “or show you?”

She sucked in a short breath and held it for a moment, her eyes never leaving his for a moment. She recovered from her shock only a fraction of a second later, and her usual confident mischief took over her face. “Ooh, such a _hard_ decision.” Her hands started to wander, so he grabbed them in one hand and held them over her head gently. He held them there as he kissed his way down her neck, across her collarbone and back to her sternum, between her breasts and down to her navel, only letting go when he couldn’t hold on to them any longer because he _needed_ to kiss the inside of her thigh, high enough to make her gasp but low enough that she wouldn’t be begging just yet.

His groin was hot and tight, but he ignored it for the time being. There was nothing he wanted to do more than bury his face between her legs until she was screaming.

So he did just that, slowly, taking his time to reach the crease on the outside of her folds, chuckling to himself at her hiss when he breathed warmly close to her, tipping his head sideways when he didn’t touch her at all for another moment and she groaned impatiently. Her face coloured red when she looked down and saw him simply watching her, occasionally looking at her sex just to watch how he was affecting her, until the little nub that usually hid between her inner folds started to swell a little, and then he pressed a kiss to it.

Lupa let out a helpless sound of relief, and he moaned against her. “The first thing I did,” he told her, his voice rough and incredibly low, his lips brushing against her as he spoke, “was taste you.”

He opened his mouth, flattened his tongue, and placed it at the entrance to her core, sliding it slowly up to just past her inner folds. He looked at her, licking his lips clean and dragging his teeth across his bottom lip. She groaned again and flopped her head back onto her pillows. “You always taste so _good_.”

And he did it again.

Her hand came down to the back of his head, tangling into his hair. “Showing – showing is perfectly _fine_ at this point, Cullen,” she bit out, struggling with the words as he aimed to distract her with another few careful strokes of his tongue, his hands gently pushing to keep her thighs from closing around him.

“But telling is so much _fun_ ,” he countered, his lips once again brushing against her, and he cut off her response by dragging his teeth gently against her hooded nerves.

But he complied; after all, there was little else to tell at the moment. She was so intoxicating when he would pleasure her like this, covered in her arousal, mired in her scent, overwhelmed by her taste. He was sure delirium was setting in again from it, from the knot of love and pride that got all tangled up in his chest when he did this for her.

He watched her above him for a moment as he considered it. Cullen was secure enough with himself to know what he was very good at: being a warrior, leading men, and putting his tongue to use.

He swiped his tongue from her entrance to the top of her folds again, and the first of the shivers ran through her, followed by a contented moan. It was a sign that he was on the right track, and he continued his careful assault, slow and gentle, just the way he knew she liked it. He’d gladly go on like this for hours, but she hardly ever lasted more than a few minutes like this.

He felt her core muscles starting to shift strongly under his chin, bunching up tight and then closing down forcefully around nothing. He circled her swollen nerves one more time before giving her something to clamp down around, taking a hand from her inner thigh and letting two fingers slide into her easily. She shook again, her back arching off the bed as she moaned loudly in response.

A laugh bubbled up Cullen’s throat as he curled his fingertips against her, his attentions never wavering for a moment. She shuddered at the feeling of his breath against her, her own breathing coming in shallower and shorter, and Cullen couldn’t help but look up at her. He loved the view of her from this angle; even as tiny as she was, she took up his whole vision, her thighs on either side of his head the perfect frame to picture her through. Her head was thrown back against the pillows, her chin pointed high in the air, with one hand still on his head and the other grabbing roughly at one of her little breasts. He could see the red marks her nails had left in her own skin even from here, and he growled into her, pressing his lips and his tongue as close to her as he possibly could.

As much as he was aching to bury himself deep into her tight and ever-so-wet core, there was something almost painfully intimate about seeing someone else slowly falling apart in your hands that he craved, too, and he wouldn’t give in until she had come back down again.

The shift that warned him she was close came only moments later, and he slowly but hungrily pushed her to her limit, until her legs clamped tightly around his head and his name was cut off with a deep, guttural moan. He worked her through it, growling against her at the sensation of her inner walls quivering around his fingers, the extra fluid covering his hand and his chin, and when she finally relaxed into the mattress again, breathless and boneless, he slid his fingers out of her and lapped up some of the extra juice for just one last taste of her.

He dried his face on the back of his arm when her hand disentangled itself from his hair, and he sat back on his heels, his spine straight, just looking at her for a moment. She was flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to regain her breath. She opened her eyes a few seconds later to look at him, her line of sight following his chest down to his erection, the very obvious sign of how much _he_ enjoyed it, and when the fire settled in his belly again under her gaze, he leaned forward again over her.

“What happened next?” she asked him breathlessly as he hands slowly wandered down the hard planes of his chest.

He laughed, deep in his lungs. “Well, you _tried_ to return the favour,” he told her, making her hands stop, and he touched the very tip of his swollen head to her still sensitive skin, “but I was too impatient.”

His arms slipped under her back, and then he sat upright again, pulling her up into his lap. She shifted until she was settled just over him, and left him waiting there for a minute before sinking down, her walls dragging against him unbearably, and he closed his eyes and groaned at her.

As much as he loved the taste of her, the power he held when she was powerless as he pleasured her, there was _nothing_ that compared to being this close to her. And he held her there, as close as he could, his arms long enough to wrap one around her waist and let the other follow the line of her spine up so he could grab at her hair gently, and then he pressed his forehead to hers.

They were silent aside from the sounds of their breathing there, for a moment, just basking in the feel of each other. Cullen broke it by pulling his forehead away from hers and opening his eyes.

Foreign, heavy words spilled out of his mouth, without his thinking, but he knew they were the right ones. “ _Ar lath, vhenan.”_

Lupa’s eyes went wide for a few seconds, and then her mouth crashed down on his. She moved against him finally, and _Maker_ , it was always incredible when they came together like this, each a perfect extension of the other.

He was so entirely lost in her that he barely registered his back hitting the mattress, but he opened his eyes and tried his best to keep them open so he could watch her move over him. She rocked back and forth, her hands splayed on his stomach to brace herself, her back straight as she tossed her head back. He reached out and grabbed whatever of her he could reach, fingers following tattooed lines he didn’t need to see to find, nails digging in when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer because stars were exploding in his vision.

It seemed like only a few minutes later that he was desperately moving to meet her, and he realized too late how close he was, lost in the sensation and unable to stop himself but worried that he had neglected her. He was about to tell her when she moved again and all of his control snapped cleanly, his words replaced by a loud groan mixed up with her name.

She answered him with a low moan of her own, and her core muscles clamped down hard around him. The heat and the tension were bordering on unbearable, it was spreading upwards, behind his navel, and just one more wave of that tension-

The sound that left him as he finally spilled himself inside her was somewhere between a growl and a moan, a desperate sound of relief, and then she clamped down around him again, hard, a wild cry escaping her, too. He tried to help her ride through it as long as he could, but he was spent, and only seconds later she was pitching forward to lay across his chest.

Cullen took a minute to catch his breath, his arms snaking around Lupa’s back to hold her close. They stayed there for a couple of minutes, silently, as Lupa brought her aura back under control. The smell of ozone was strong around them, as it always was, and it was a comforting, almost sleepy smell to him now.

In fact, he was starting to drift off to sleep again when Lupa pushed against the weight of his arms on her back to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he told her suddenly.

“For what?” she asked him.

“Well, I just – I didn’t wait for you. I was a little overcome.”

Lupa laughed. “I made it, in the end.”

He took a hand from her back and tucked her heavy fringe of hair behind an ear. “I’m also sorry about that dream.”

She tipped her chin to the side. “Why?”

Cullen frowned, confused. “What do you mean, why? It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Cullen, I can’t ask more of you than you’ve asked of me,” she told him. He continued to frown at her, not believing that was all of it, and she finally caved with a sigh. “You remember last night, when you asked if you had woken at all? I told you the last time was before lunch, and I gave you bread and tea.” He nodded, and she dropped her gaze to his chest before continuing. “I may not have been entirely honest. I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.”

He watched her in silence for a few seconds, more curious than upset by the omission. “What happened? I don’t remember,” he prompted her. She sighed again and looked him in the eye.

“Well, you woke up, clearly delirious – you didn’t recognize Dorian and I properly,” she started. “I came to check on you, and you… you thought I was Andraste. And that Dorian was the Maker.”

Ah. So it _hadn’t_ been a weird dream.

“Do you remember that at all?”

“Not really, no,” Cullen answered. “I remember having what I thought was a weird dream about them, but I don’t remember any details about it.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Lupa told him, “but I was worried you’d become upset if we tried to convince you otherwise, so Dorian and I… we went along with it. You were still very upset, talking about Solona and Kirkwall. Blaming us for all these awful things that happened to you. How Solona was the first person you loved, and yet the Maker asked you to put a sword through her chest.”

Cullen frowned in concern. Poor Dorian – he’d have to make it up to him. He reached up and placed a palm on Lupa’s face softly when he saw how much those words hurt her, too.

“But then you seemed to realize that you were talking to Andraste, and you started begging, pleading, that Andraste let you keep me. ‘Haven’t I given up enough?’ I think you said. Of course, I had no answer to that, and you got angry. But then…” One of Lupa’s hands came up to cover the one on her face, and she started to smile. “Then you told me I was _everything_ ,” she emphasized breathlessly. “That I was like ‘a million Solonas, and then some’. How could I begrudge you a dream you have no control over after an admission like that?”

Cullen sat up again and captured her lips in a soft, apologetic kiss. The end of his nose was wet a couple of seconds later, and he pulled away so he could dry the silent tears on her face. “You could have stepped in and changed it. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Maybe not,” she answered him, “but if it meant some closure for you, then I was happy to let you have it. Besides, it seems to have worked in our favour after all.”

Cullen laughed almost reluctantly, and then startled when he saw movement in front of the fire. Romulus stood and stretched, his hackles raising, and he regarded the two of them with a look of discomfort and disapproval before stepping very deliberately out to one of the balconies.

Cullen and Lupa both dissolved into a hearty laughing fit at that, and Lupa rolled off him finally to lay at his side, her head resting comfortably in the groove at the front of his shoulder.

“Oh, and Cullen?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s ‘ _ar lath,_ ma _vhenan.’”_

Cullen smiled and kissed the top of her head, wishing they could lay together for that way forever.

 

*                             *                             *

 

By the time Lupa got around to checking in on Cullen that afternoon, she was exhausted.

She started in the training grounds, where she got to witness a sparring match between Cassandra and Revasan. They disappeared to the tavern when they were done, so Lupa stayed and helped Bull work with the Chargers for a bit. She spoke to Cassandra about the Seekers and the tome she had been given when she emerged from the Herald’s Rest alone, and then Lupa went in to speak with Sera and Cole briefly.

Revasan summoned her over for a drink on her way out, so she sat and enjoyed some of her father’s mead with the other elf. He asked her some interesting questions regarding Cassandra, and Lupa smiled, answering them as best she could. Knowing that Cassandra’s interest wasn’t one-sided took a weight off her shoulders that she hadn’t realized was settled there.

Varric had run a few story ideas by her, stopping and shooing her away abruptly when Scout Harding made a rare appearance in the main hall; Lupa tried not to make any assumptions, but that was difficult to do, especially when she heard Varric affectionately refer to her as ‘Lacie.’ Solas had inquired briefly about Cullen’s health, and then turned back to his fresco, his dismissal of her wordless and tense. She had climbed the steps to the solar slowly, and Dorian grilled her for at least an hour about Cullen, asking her all kinds of questions to ensure that the Commander was in better health. When he finally let her go with a clap on the shoulder, she made her way up to Vivienne, who asked Lupa for some help obtaining an alchemy ingredient.

Then she made her way up to Leliana; the Spymaster simply told her to seek out the Commander that day for some information, and left it at that, wordlessly returning to her work.

Lupa made one last stop at the stables to speak to Blackwall before finding Cullen again. They spoke of the Grey Wardens, of what happened at Adamant, and she tried to give him some peace of mind by convincing him to remember their intentions instead of their actions. He seemed to feel significantly better by the time she left him, and even invited her out for a drink some time now that things were a little quieter for the time being.

When she finally made the climb to Cullen’s tower, she found him surrounded by his Captains, his back straight and shoulders square, issuing out orders.

“Everyone’s clear?” A chorus of _Yes, Ser!_  sounded through his office, bouncing off the stone walls. “Good. We could be gone for as long as four weeks, so stick to the schedule and we should be fine. Knight-Captain Rylen should be back tomorrow, and any questions you have can be directed to him.” He looked around the room, catching sight of her in the doorway briefly, and then he nodded at his men. “Dismissed.”

They raised their fists to their chests in a salute, and then began to file out of the office. When the room was clear again, Cullen smiled at her; it was lacking warmth, but his eyes were bright, far from menacing. “Inquisitor.”

She nodded at him in return, one of her brows raising at his expression. “Commander?”

“We have him, Inquisitor!”

Lupa felt her eyes go wide with surprise. “Samson?”

Cullen nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve found Samson’s lair. I know my duties usually keep me here, but for this, I’m making an exception.”

“Where is he?”

“There will be a War Council tomorrow – Leliana and I will lay out all the details then.”

Lupa nodded, smiling at him, but then worry settled in. “He still has that red lyrium armour…”

Cullen frowned, too, his voice dropping, all pretense of professionalism gone. “All the more reason for me to go. I would… sleep better if I knew I’d be at your side for this.”

Lupa didn’t answer that. “When do we leave?”

“Not tomorrow, but the day after. Rylen should be here around lunchtime tomorrow, and I’ll need to brief him on daily activities here before we leave.” Cullen rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck to one side. “I know it isn’t my place to request who you travel with, but… perhaps we could take Seeker Pentaghast for this one? I have some experience fighting with her, and it should make things easier for us.”

Lupa nodded. “I’ll speak with her, Varric, and Dorian after dinner.”

“Good. Thank you,” he told her, and this time when he smiled, it reached his eyes, lighting up his whole face. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’m free if you are,” she told him, and left his office to walk the walls of the Keep.

She managed to find Dorian and Varric after dinner, but Cassandra wasn’t in her usual place with the dummies; Lupa was about to go to the tavern to meet Bull when she saw Revasan exiting through the door to the smith house, and wondered if she was in her little loft.

Cassandra was, indeed, there, sitting frozen and glassy-eyed on a chair by her window. Lupa had to call her name three times before she blinked slowly and started at Lupa’s presence.

“Inquis – Lupa, forgive me, I must have…”

“I’d be worried if you were able to be possessed,” Lupa answered. “Everything alright?”

“Is everything – yes, everything’s fine!” Cassandra answered breathlessly, her voice a little high and panicked, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She cleared her throat nervously. “Did you need me for something?”

“Just to let you know that we’ve found Samson’s lair. We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow – the Commander has requested you join us, since he has experience fighting with you.”

Cassandra blinked slowly a few times, and then nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, Lupa, but if you’ll excuse me…”

Lupa tried to hide the giggle that bubbled up her throat, but she didn’t need to – Cassandra was so distracted that she didn’t even wait to see if Lupa was leaving before pulling a battered journal from her bag and grabbing a pen and inkpot.

She hurried down the steps anyway, leaving Cassandra to whatever had so completely taken over her. The Commander had asked her to meet him in the gardens after dinner, and she had made him wait for her long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stewing over this sexy scene for days, letting it just marinade in all the lovely feels, and I'm really, really happy and proud of the way it turned out. 
> 
> So I really hope you enjoyed it!


	41. For the Word of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not every day an elf's work takes them into the Tevinter Imperium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a drabble called A Strange Cry For Help, as well, in the series. It takes place between parts one and two of this Chapter, if you're interested in giving it a read! It'll clarify a small comment made near the end of this Chapter.

Josephine had finished her reports quickly, eyeing Cullen and Leliana’s steely yet nervous expressions with open concern. When she finished and indicated that one of the others could take over, Leliana nodded to Cullen.

Lupa had been entirely silent throughout the meeting so far, the only sign of her own growing nerves shown in the way she was absently massaging Rom’s scalp. She watched as Cullen picked up one of his little map pieces from the edge of the map, weighing it in a palm.

“Leliana has found Samson’s lair for me, as you all know already,” he started, his voice low and dangerous. It sent a lick of heat shooting behind Lupa’s navel, but it didn’t settle there. He stared at the piece of metal in his palm for another half a minute before looking up to meet Lupa’s eye, his icy professionalism cracking to show a desperate apology.

He placed the little piece down on the map, and Lupa’s stomach dropped, her blood roaring in her ears.

Every elf feared the Imperium, and with good reason – Dalish or no, even stepping one foot into their borders increased your chances of slavery tenfold.

Romulus whined pathetically next to her, and she realized she had frozen. She went back to massaging his scalp for him, but the movement was forced, and he shook his ears out nervously.

“He’s operating out of an ancient, abandoned Shrine dedicated to…” 

“Dumat,” Leliana finished for him.

He nodded gravely. “Thank you.”

Josephine looked like she was going to shake right out of her skin from fear. “Cullen, you _can’t_ send her there, they’ll-”

“I’m going along for this one, Josephine,” Cullen reminded her. “They will not lay a single finger on her.”

Heat rose to Lupa’s cheeks at the ferocity of his words. She found herself breathing a little more freely, and Romulus growled low in his chest in agreement next to her.

Cullen laid out all of his information, and then moved on to the less pressing matters. Leliana didn’t take long when he was finished, and their meeting closed just over half an hour later.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana’s voice drifted across the room, and Lupa looked up from the map to find its source. “Could you come see me in the tower before you leave? I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Lupa nodded, and Leliana swept past her, leaving her alone in the too-large War Room with Romulus and the Commander.

“I’m sorry, Lupa,” he murmured, taking his time to walk around the table to her.

“Well, now I know why you wanted to come along. And why you wanted Cassandra with us,” Lupa smirked humourlessly. Actually, it worked out far more favourably: they’d need to travel through Nevarra, and bringing a giant Qunari to his boyfriend’s narrow-minded home country didn’t seem too smart.

“I was given the position of Commander for a reason, you know,” he told her, trying to feign hurt but only managing to sound less apologetic than before.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Lupa teased him. She turned to face him for a moment when he reached her, but she was drawn back in to his little map marker like it was staring her down, its breath hot on the back of her neck. She stared right back, leaning over the edge of the table, her palms braced on the edge. She wondered how she was going to make it through this one, barely registering Romulus leaning on her more soundly or Cullen’s hand rubbing up and down her spine soothingly. The longer she watched it, the more afraid she became; how could a little piece of metal do this to her? Make her breath come short, make her knees weak, make her blood pound in her ears and her skin flush with fear?

Something in her broke, an eternity or only seconds later, and fear gave way to anger: pure, righteous fury, the kind that toppled kingdoms and demanded others bend their knee. One hand left the edge of the War Table to make a fist and slam down, the sound bouncing loudly through the room, making Cullen abruptly take his hand from her back and making Romulus jump. Little pieces all over the map wavered and toppled over, but the most offensive one stayed spitefully upright. “Look at me, cowering like a mewling pup,” she snarled. “The Imperium won’t take me. I’ve stood against one of their most dangerous, ancient Magisters, against dragons, against _countless_ demons, and I’m still here. Oh, they can try,” she snorted out a soundless, humourless laugh, “but when they do… I will show them Andraste’s Fire. I will show them the Inquisitor’s Strength. I will show them the Dread Wolf’s Rage – and if they even _try_ to lay a finger on me, on _any_ of us… their Maker save them from what I will do.”

She turned to face Cullen, surprised to see him staring at her in shock, with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Suddenly embarrassed by her impassioned words, she tried to break the ringing silence. “Tell _that_ to your useless village maidens.”

Cullen didn’t laugh; he continued to stare at her, blinking rapidly as her words sank in, the silence around them deafening until his rigid pose snapped. Suddenly his arms were around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs as his lips collided with hers. The clasps on her shirt _clanged_ against his breastplate, and when she was too focused on breathing to respond in kind, he let her go enough that she could pull away and thread her fingers into his hair.

“And that,” he told her, his voice low and rough, “is one of the many reasons why I love you.”

They kissed each other properly, this time, their breathing ragged as their tongues curled against each other. It went on for a few moments, until Lupa tried to squeeze herself too close against his chestplate and ended up stabbing herself in the collarbone with one of the hooks near his collar – what were they even _for_ , anyway?

“Mmm – Ow,” she said surprised, pulling back sharply. It was close to where her bone winged up toward her neck, so she couldn’t see it, but it was a sensitive spot and it _hurt_. It was definitely going to bruise.

Cullen immediately kissed it better, lingering there and kissing his way across her bone toward the curve of her shoulder, and then back to the crook of her neck again for good measure. When she giggled at him, he continued in a sweep up her neck, to the corner of her jaw and back down to her chin, until she grabbed another fistful of his hair and pulled him up so she could kiss him properly again.

This time she was more mindful of those cursed hooks, but she got a little lost in him again, the feel of his hands on her back and his tongue in her mouth even more intoxicating than ever before, and she only pulled away again when she felt the edge of the War Table digging into her rear.

“Okay, pretty boy, maybe here and now isn’t the best idea,” she suggested.

“Why not? I can put everything back where it was,” he offered, and Lupa smirked at him.

“Because Leliana and Josephine are likely on the other side of the door eavesdropping,” Lupa replied, and they went very quiet and very still.

They could just make out a quiet, unsuccessfully stifled giggle.

“Aaaaaand… the moment’s gone,” Lupa sighed wistfully, prompting another chuckle from deep in Cullen’s chest. “For the best, really. Leliana wanted to see me, and I’ll need to go talk to Cassandra. And Dorian,” she added gravely.

Cullen cleared his throat and nodded, gathering up his papers again while Lupa slowly padded to the door. Convinced that Leliana and Josephine were still on the other side, she smiled, turning slowly to look at him again. “Oh, and Commander?” Cullen stopped to look at her curiously; they usually only used each others’ titles as a means of signifying that a discussion was business instead of pleasure, but sometimes they would let it leak into their more private conversations. “I think I’ll need your assistance after dinner, to make sure I’m… _prepared_ for our journey tomorrow.”

He smiled seductively at her, his eyes narrowing and cheeks already beginning to flush at the implication. “As you command, Inquisitor,” he answered, bowing as low and graceful as his voice.

Lupa gave him one last smirk before putting a hand on Rom’s head and leaving the War Room behind.

When she opened the door, the hallway was empty, so she walked briskly through to Josephine’s office. The Ambassador looked like she was still settling into her seat.

“Has Leliana headed back to the Rookery?” Lupa asked. Josephine just nodded, and Lupa thanked her, continuing on to the main hall without a backwards glance.

Had she stayed a few moments longer, she might have had the privilege to witness the deep shade of red that coloured Cullen’s cheeks when Josephine couldn’t hold back a giggle as he passed through behind her.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen finished rolling the last of Lupa’s shirts for her, and added it to the pile of others. She immediately bent to begin counting them, _again_ , her legs straight and her rear sticking up in the air right in front of his face.

She bent a knee, cocking a hip out to the side, and Cullen growled at her. He reached out to run a hand up her leg, but the moment he made contact with her she stood straight and moved away.

She was doing this on _purpose._

He had realized that about two hours ago, when he’d dragged his armour and his always-ready pack with him so he could check his own equipment for the trip in the morning.

“Thanks for that,” she told him, cocking her head towards her rolled-up shirts. He didn’t say anything in return, but something in his expression made her giggle. He cleared his throat and reached out for Romulus’ plate and scale, his own armour already greased and polished. He watched her go over her pack to make sure there were no issues, and wondered just how much longer she intended to play this game.

She’d been at it for maybe two hours already, and he was growing _very_ impatient. Still, he took extra care in making sure Rom’s armour was properly oiled, taking longer than it normally would.

Two could play this game.

She seemed content to wait, watching his hands as he worked. They moved of their own accord, working entirely on memory as he daydreamed, thinking about all the things he wanted his hands to do to her, all the places they could touch her, all the _ways_ they could touch her. He could almost hear her already, the way she would pant and whimper and _moan_ , the way his name would be left half-said as he touched her _just right_ and she would just come apart underneath him, her world shattering under the pressure of unspeakable pleasure.

When he was done, his hands stopped working, setting aside the heavy metal plates at his side carefully. The movement drew him out of his daydreams, and he found Lupa staring at him curiously. He flushed red, embarrassed by where his mind had gone.

She stood and came over to collect Rom’s things, smiling and placing a soft, quick kiss on his nose. Cullen accepted it silently, his frustration returning; if only his hands weren’t covered in oil! He could have reached out and grabbed her, hauled her down right there – or maybe swooped her up and kept her hostage on her bed while he took his time checking everything over for the fourth time, until she begged him to join her-

He grabbed a dry, clean rag and wiped off as much of the oil as he could. He was about to get up to wash his hands in her water closet, but she brought him a large bowl and a bar of soft soap. He scrubbed his hands clean slowly, watching her as she bent to check on everything they had scattered on the floor around the room again, and when he was done, he gave in. He stood, taking the bowl out to the balcony and tipping its contents over the edge to the mountains below before turning back into her room and shutting the balcony door behind him. He carried it back to her water closet, setting it on an empty counter, and then he went to claim his lady.

She had her back to him, so he quickly padded across the floor and grabbed her arm gently – too gently, because she threw him a teasing smile over her shoulder and stepped lightly out of his grip. “Everything okay, Cullen?”

He growled at her in warning, and her smirk widened. “I need to count my shirts, make sure I have enough-”

“We’ve counted those already,” he told her, low and dangerous, as he prowled slowly toward where she was standing, already across the room from him again. “Three times.”

“Have we?” she answered him, her voice too light and high to actually be surprised. “What about the bedrolls? And we should check our – mmmf.”

He had let her backpedal a few paces when he reached her before his hands shot out from his sides, grabbing her and pulling her close in a vice grip with his arms around her waist, silencing her with a rough kiss. She molded to him, chuckling deep in her lungs, and he broke away to look at her.

“And here I thought you’d give in hours ago,” she told him. “Maybe I should try harder next time.”

He couldn’t hold his stern expression anymore, a wicked grin of his own taking over as he bent and swept an arm under her knees, picking her up easily and dropping her onto her bed.

“Oh, no, Ser,” she told him, scrambling to right herself, a hand snapping out and grabbing the collar of his shirt, dragging him down with her. “I’m not done torturing you just yet.”

Cullen’s blood roared in his ears, but when she pulled his shirt off and started tugging at the lacing of his breeches with her teeth, he stopped trying to fight her.

There was something fevered and almost hungry in their ministrations tonight, quite different from the previous morning. Lupa was still putty under his hands, but she was always in control, never letting her concentration slip, urging him on with her hands and her tongue, and then with the forceful grind of her hips, stroking deeper into her every time he rose to meet her. When the heat and tension grew almost unbearable, he begged her for release, even as she picked up her pace and told him to let go.

Stars exploded behind his eyelids when he did, spilling himself and feeling it surrounding him inside of her, until the only sounds left were the crackling fire and their panting.

She rolled off of him immediately; Cullen frowned, finding it unusual, but he was too busy trying to catch his breath again to comment on it. His eyes drifted closed, and guilt started to set in as he realized that Lupa had given so much and received nothing in return, her breathing steady long before his, her skin cool and pale, but his eyelids were heavy and he slipped into sleep.

He woke early, the sun still below the eastern horizon, surprised to find Lupa already awake. She was sitting in her smalls in front of the fire with Romulus as she brushed her hair dry. He pushed up onto an elbow to get a better look at her.

“Good morning, sleepy,” she teased him with a tight, cold grin. “My girls brought up extra water for you so you can get clean before we ride. They asked that you stay the night more often.”

“And just why would they make such a request?” Cullen asked, confused and still half-asleep.

“Well, how easy do you think it is to get water up to the tub in your room?”

Cullen thought about it for a few seconds before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet shocking at the cold stone floor. “Fair enough.” He stretched and stood, making his way to her water closet to find a steaming bath and a fresh bar of soap in a dish hanging over the side.

“Let me know if it’s too hot, and I’ll set an ice rune to cool it down for a few seconds,” Lupa called, but he slipped into the tub silently, the water a little on the hot side but unbelievably relaxing.

He wished he could just soak in there all day, but after only a few minutes of enjoying the water, he began to scrub himself clean, taking next to no time before he emerged again, one of her Orlesian bath towels wrapped around his waist, kept in place by a steady hand.

Lupa stood from the fire, her magic working to tie her hair up into her usual tight bun, a pin in her hand fixing the fringe over her forehead into place off of her face. Cullen watched her walk over to him, careful to note her stiff shoulders, tight gait, and slightly narrowed eyes.

She was still scared.

“Here,” she said, taking the edge of the towel from his hand and tucking it in such a way that it wouldn’t fall off of him if he let it go. As soon as she was done and looked up at him, he drew her close into his chest. He held her there for a couple of minutes, trying to impart some of his strength into her, but she pulled away when a shiver started in her spine; he just felt it as she slipped out of his grip with another tight smirk, stepping away to finish dressing for the day and pack her bag.

How could he ask this of her? Taking her into the Imperium… _Maker, I’m an idiot._

Did he really think she’d let him go by himself, though? Absolutely not – so he tried to convince himself that he’d done the best he could under the circumstances, and made a silent promise to never leave her alone for even a second.

Besides, they’d have Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric. Romulus would be on high alert with him the entire time.

They continued to dress and make their last-minute preparations in silence, but before they emerged from her tower into the main hall, Cullen grabbed her hand to spin her around, his other grabbing her chin gently to guide her gaze towards his.

“Lupa,” he pleaded when she wouldn’t meet it. She finally looked at him properly at the sound of her name, and her eyes were glassy. “We are going to be fine. I am not going to let _anything_ happen to you.”

She sighed, pulling away from him and putting a hand on the door, ready to push it open. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she murmured before she entered the main hall, and he followed, confused and entirely at a loss for how to answer her.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Their travels that day were almost too quiet.

Cullen stayed to the rear of the group, checking over his shoulder every few minutes, watching the others the rest of the time: Lupa and Cassandra were at the front, heads bent towards each other as they talked quietly, a giggle sometimes escaping them and breaking the uncomfortable silence; Varric seemed to be eavesdropping, interjecting with a sarcastic comment just often enough that the Seeker was worried about what she was saying, turning around to glare at the dwarf every few minutes; Dorian was sitting perfectly tall and straight in his saddle, not saying a word, his back and shoulders stiff with either fear or anger.

Cullen sighed slowly and quietly. He guessed the second option was more likely from the way the mage had been giving him the silent treatment all day, and from the disdainful looks he had received when Dorian caught him looking at him.

Cullen was worried about it, but he knew better than to press the issue. Dorian was reminding him of his days of training with the female Templar recruits, where they would get upset at one of the boys in their recruitment class and decide to give him _and_ his friends the silent treatment for the rest of the week. Those girls didn’t like being poked and prodded by the boys they were angry at, and Cullen imagined Dorian wouldn’t be too impressed, either.

They broke for a quick, cold lunch around midday. Cullen sat silently at Lupa’s side as they ate, and then they all walked for about an hour, guiding their horses part of the way so they could stretch their own legs a bit. When they decided to ride again for the rest of the day, Cassandra and Varric immediately fell into place, arguing, starting to walk ahead of the group. Cullen was about to follow them when he noticed Lupa waiting for Dorian.

The Tevinter seemed to be having a hard time getting adjusted, which Cullen thought was odd until the mage gave him a very distinct look over Lupa’s shoulder.

“I’ll wait for him, Lupa,” Cullen called out to her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “You go catch up with the others.”

Lupa looked back at Dorian for a few seconds before nodding and turning Ellana around, nudging her into a trot to catch up with the other two.

Once she was out of hearing range, Dorian immediately stopped squirming and sat up straight and tall in his saddle, nudging his stallion into a gentle walk. Cullen followed the mage’s lead, staying silent until Dorian was ready to talk.

The mage, however, was just as infuriatingly silent as he had been before, and Cullen was starting to lose his patience with the man. He was working himself up to saying something when Dorian finally spoke, shocking him out of this train of thought.

“Cullen Stanton Rutherford,” Dorian almost spat. Cullen turned to look at him quickly, his shoulders tensing defensively at the rather maternal use of his full name. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?”

Dorian finally looked at him, and Cullen couldn’t help but answer. “You’ll need to be a bit more specific, Dorian. I’ve done a great many things.”

He was spared the snarky remark he knew would follow by Lupa checking on them over her shoulder up ahead. Dorian gave her a dazzling smile and a little wave to assure her that everything was fine, and he didn’t speak again until she had waved back at them, turning to face the road ahead of her.

“I’ve done the best I could, Dorian.”

“ _This_ is the best you could do? Sending her to my _homeland_ over some petty grudge you have against Corypheus’ General?”

“Don’t be such a child, Dorian,” Cullen chastised the man, insulted. “Just because I happen to have a history with the man doesn’t mean I’m doing this against the good of the Inquisition. How crippled would we be if I was assassinated? How crippled will Corypheus’ army be if we manage to kill Samson before everyone’s gathered back up? And do you really think I can truly afford to be away from Skyhold for the length of time it’ll take us to get there and back again? I’m here to help keep her safe. I’m here to make sure she comes home.”

Dorian considered him for a moment, but his shoulders relaxed as he nodded. “Good. Just needed to make sure, you know. You are an incredibly passionate man, from what I hear, and if said passions were misguided or misplaced…”

Cullen just sighed. Their silence stretched for another minute or so before he spoke again. “That’s not all this is about.” It wasn’t a question.

Dorian was watching Lupa’s back up ahead. “Tell me, Cullen – do you believe her titles will keep her safe there, as they have here?”

“I imagine they would,” Cullen answered slowly, wondering where Dorian was going with the conversation now.

“Then allow me to give you a little insight regarding my home, and how slavers’ minds work,” Dorian told him darkly, his spine stiff again. “In the Imperium, elves are second-class citizens. There is no rising above your station, as a _soporati_ mage might. Elves are not hired for honest jobs, merchants refuse to sell to them, public kitchen staff will withhold food scraps for the humans, denying an elf the ability to even eat. As such, there isn’t a single elf in the Imperium that doesn’t hold slave status. Those who are slaves are treated generally worse than their human counterparts, particularly with the way they’re fetishized.” Dorian took a deep breath before continuing. “Now, when we get to the border, there will be slavers everywhere – many claim to be roadworkers, or will offer directions, but what they’re really doing is sizing you up to see if you’ll be worth the effort of capturing and hauling in.

“The first thing they’ll notice are Lupa’s ears: right there, they’ll know they have to have her, even if they have to kill the rest of us. Her tattoos and Romulus’ presence will only make them more eager – remember fetishizing? She’s exotic looking, plus she has a pet that can be used as leverage. Now they’ll be _very_ interested, because those are things that can get them a better price at the auctions.

“Then add in all the other things she represents: Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Savior of the Elves… What sick Magister _wouldn’t_ want to stick it to the southern Chantry by abusing and violating her, or to the elves as a whole? She would fetch the slavers a _fortune_ , and they will not stop hounding us until she’s in their clutches, or they’re all dead.” Dorian snorted out a humourless laugh. “Oh, and don’t forget that the Magisters who generally treat their slaves well won’t be interested in a trophy slave, so it’ll only be the sickest, most twisted bastards who will bid on her. And if it goes that far, and she ends up bought and taken home, you can bet she won’t survive the week. Her titles will only convince whoever bought her that her blood is stronger than that of their other slaves, and she’ll be the first one sacrificed when something comes up.”

Cullen thought he was going to be sick. He hadn’t considered that deeply what could happen – Dorian had just given him the worst-case scenario, but that was still a terrifyingly strong outcome of this trip. He wished, for the first time ever, that Cole was with them. There was an awful knot of anger, fear, and self-loathing bouncing around in his chest, now, and he wanted nothing more than to pull it apart so it would go away.

“Now do you understand why I’m rather unimpressed with this whole outcome, Rutherford?”

Cullen didn’t answer; he couldn’t. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, that whatever lunch was left in his stomach would end up on the side of the road.

“She’s trying to put on a brave face for you, you know,” Dorian continued. Cullen wondered if the man knew how much salt he was rubbing into the wounds he had just opened up. “She doesn’t want you to see just how terrified she is. ‘I don’t want him to feel guilty about it,’ she choked out through the tears yesterday.” Dorian fixed Cullen with a scathing look, and the Commander shrunk in on himself. “I understand that this is the way it needs to be done, but I thought you should know the truth of it.”

With that, Dorian spurred his stallion ahead to join the others, leaving Cullen alone to contemplate what he’d done.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, giving a silent prayer of thanks for Alistair’s help the previous afternoon, before pushing Mia into a gallop so he wouldn’t lose the group ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was really, really hard. I'm not too great at writing angsty stuff, so all this fear and guilt and negativity in general gave me a real challenge. 
> 
> I'd love some feedback, as always! And if you'd like, I'm reposting, chapter by chapter, on my tumblr (lupalavellan.tumblr.com). I generally follow back, so if you want to swing by there to let me know how I'm doing, feel free! I'm also open to prompts there!


	42. The Men of Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking an elf into the Imperium isn't the smartest thing Cullen Rutherford's ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart happened today! I added the link to the story summary, but if you want to check it out, you can find it here: http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/post/124414361276/lupa-lavellan-for-capitolina-lupa-by-theradiostarr

Cullen climbed his way back up to the deck from the hold of the ship, and took a deep breath of the clean salt air, relieved to be out under the sky again.

Dorian and Romulus were the only two below decks at the moment, aside from those sailors who were off watch and relaxing with a game of Wicked Grace with Varric. They were both horrifically sick, and while Romulus couldn’t stay up on the deck without fear of sliding overboard, Dorian certainly could. Cullen had spent the last two days trying to convince the mage that it was easier to bear sea travel when you could see the sky, but he kept refusing to budge.

Romulus’ nausea was, of course, contagious, so Cullen had to excuse himself to get some fresh air before he got sick, too.

He had to admit that he felt rather… naked and unprepared should anything go wrong, though. He had been told at the harbour that his armour couldn’t be worn on board, and he’d been provided with a few sleeveless shirts and a couple pairs of pants cut off just below the knee, which he rolled up to a tight cuff just _above_ his knees, the frayed ends bothering him as they could only bother a military man. He was also given a pair of soft leather shoes with tough hide soles to wear instead of his boots.

They’d all been given similar gear, in fact. They had the hardest time with garbing Lupa, since she was so much more petite than the rest of them; even Varric had been easier to accommodate. In the end, Lupa had destroyed a pair of her cotton sleeping pants, cutting them off a few inches above her knees and sewing cuffs into them so that they ended about halfway down her thigh, showing off a vast amount of her tattooed legs. She paired them with her usual sleeveless undershirts, and gave in when they insisted she wear shoes, as well.

Cullen spotted her across the deck with a few of the other sailors, helping them adjust one of their sails: feet planted in a wide stance, leaning all of her insignificant weight on a length of line, her skin glistening with sweat under the high sun, her tattoos almost shining in the sea spray… he stood transfixed, just watching her, stunned into immobility by her radiance, and he wondered for the thousandth time that _week_ how she could ever love him.

One of the sailors shouted something, the words snatched away by the wind, and Lupa finally relaxed her line. The other sailors began to approach her; it seemed she had done well with whatever they had been doing, and while one of the men showed her how to properly secure her line now that the sail was set properly, the others showered her with praise, clapping her on the back and giving her arms gentle squeezes.

One of the sailors placed a palm on her back and left it there while he talked to her, and Cullen’s eyes narrowed in warning, a possessive growl building low in his throat. Lupa caught his eye from across the deck, as if sensing his disapproval, and when the man stopped talking to follow her gaze, Cullen began to approach the group of them.

The sailor took his hand away immediately, as if stung, and Lupa moved away to the stern quarterdeck of the caravelle, leaning over to rest her arms on the wooden crossrail.

“You seem to be enjoying all the attention,” Cullen teased as he approached her. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“It’s a nice feeling, to know others are interested in you, even when you’re out of their reach,” she answered him. He put his hands gently on her hips, and she stood straight finally, turning to face him with a smile. “But yours is the only attention worth having.”

Cullen laughed at that, remembering when he had said almost those exact words to her at the Winter Palace. “And here I was worried you’d end up running away, leaving me all alone to become a pirate.”

“Leave you behind?” she answered him with a sly grin. “Never. I’d need a handsome man in very little clothing as my Second-In-Command. No one would take me seriously otherwise.”

Her hands had snaked up under the hem of his shirt, and she gently bent her fingers, the tips putting pressure on the hard lines of his stomach. He let her go to pull his shirt off, looping it through one of the belt hoops on his short pants, before grabbing her around the waist and hoisting her up onto the crossrail. She spread her knees wide so he could step in closer, and he did, leaning down to press a kiss behind her ear. “Maybe I should give _these_ sailors a chance to know what they’re up against.”

“It won’t work if they can’t look at you, Cullen,” she giggled.

He straightened up to look at her, and she was squinting at him. “What?”

“ _Mythal’enaste_ , Cullen, when was the last time your skin touched the sunlight?” She reached out and placed her palms flat on his stomach again. “You’re whiter than Rom! And you’ll burn badly. Can I help?”

He laughed and nodded, but when her magic flared, he hissed in surprise. He felt like there was electricity crackling through his skin, jumping outward slowly from the centre points of her palms across his stomach and chest, before wrapping around his ribs like a thundercloud and enveloping the expanse of his back.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s better than the alternative. I’m almost done,” Lupa promised in a murmur. Sure enough, a minute later, his skin cooled to an itchy tingle.

“Much better,” she purred.

“What did you do?” He looked down at himself and was surprised to see how much darker his skin had become.

“Forced the colour into your skin,” she commented with a half shrug. “Now you won’t burn quite so badly, and we can all admire you shamelessly.” Cullen was about to make a snarky comment in return when Lupa started giggling again.

“What is it?” he asked instead.

“Cassandra,” Lupa managed through her lilting laughter. “She’s been watching us, and now she’s so red, I’m worried she’ll figure out a way to immolate herself.”

Cullen turned to look over his shoulder at the Seeker. She was sitting on the steps up to the bow quarterdeck, and she dropped her gaze back down to the tome in her lap quickly when she realized Cullen had caught her staring. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was half-naked and standing flush against his lady, who was hidden but for her knees poking out from either side of his hips.

“You’d think she’s expecting you to just take me right here,” Lupa sighed as she slid forward to drop her feet back onto the deck.

“Can’t honestly say I wasn’t considering it,” Cullen chuckled as he stepped back, giving her room to get around him.

He spun to follow her, and noticed that Cassandra had given up on the book she was reading, and had joined the sailor’s by the mast. Lupa followed her lead.

“Good book?” Cullen murmured to the Seeker as he passed by on his way up to the bow quarterdeck.

Her response was a half disgusted, half ashamed look that lasted only a moment before she turned her attention back to the sailors, who were teaching them how to repair the frayed ends of line.

Cullen left them to continue on to the bow quarterdeck. It was his favourite place to be on the whole ship; he had an unobstructed view of the horizon and the open waters in front of them, and every now and then he’d get to feel the sea spray on his skin as they hit a swell _just so._

He startled a little as he passed the hatch to the lower decks, not expecting it to open. He was even more surprised when Dorian poked his head out.

The mage’s eyes went wide. “Well, I have to admit, the view up here is already _significantly_ better than it was down there.”

Cullen could only laugh and shake his head as he bent to offer Dorian a hand up.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cassandra and Dorian breathed a heavy sigh together from either side of her, and they all pulled their mounts to a halt.

“Welcome home,” Dorian murmured.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra answered. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all breathe easy.”

Dorian looked at her, his eyes wide with a wordless question.

Lupa looked up to the sky. The sun was still high enough for a few more hours of travel, but if they could get one last night’s sleep in safe territory…

She shook her head. “Let’s keep going. Camping now just prolongs the suffering.”

Romulus whined and pushed his forehead into her bare foot.

_Everything will be fine._

His cynicism was answer enough.

“Don’t worry, Wolfy,” Varric called from over her right shoulder. “Bianca’s _very_ excited to meet all these slavers everyone keeps talking about.”

He was answered by the ring of swords being unsheathed.

The air was thick, the atmosphere tense, and Lupa’s skin started to crawl. She wished they could make this whole journey on the ship; it was so much more relaxed, and she had almost been able to forget about this whole business about being a slaver target.

“Remember, they’ll be along the roads. Try to let me do the talking,” Dorian told them all. “I refuse to try to pass you off as a slave, but…” He sighed aggressively. “Just let me talk. And stay focused. The ones you see on the road aren’t the only ones there, I promise.”

They all nodded and continued on their way slowly, weapons held at the ready on their laps. Lupa uncapped her staff blade, not wanting to have to worry about it should she end up needing it.

They travelled at a steady walk for another almost two hours before they came across anyone else.

“Alright, I’ve got this, just try to-”

“Ah, Inquisitor! Welcome!”

Lupa’s stomach dropped.

“ _Fasta vass,”_ Dorian hissed as Lupa passed him.

They followed her, staying close; Cullen had his shield on his arm and his knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword on her right. Cassandra and Varric were watching her back, and Dorian pulled up short on her left side.

“Good evening,” Lupa called out as Romulus settled under Ellana’s deep chest, crouched and ready to spring.

“Ah, and Altus Pavus,” the man continued. He seemed to lose his air of formality as he looked them all over. “Well, I’m sure Magister Halward will be happy to know you – _rargh!”_

Romulus hadn’t bothered to wait for him to finish his sentence, leaping forward and driving the man back onto the road to pull out his throat.

More men popped up from out of crates and wagons with shouts, but Lupa didn’t have time to wait for them to get close. She quickly called Romulus back, and then reached deep into the Fade, pulling and twisting until the pressure was strong enough to create a siphoning point on the road ahead of them, pulling all but three of the men into the centre.

Dorian put up a fire wall right in their path, so close to them that they wouldn’t be able to stop in time to avoid it. While he did that, Lupa wove a static cage around the men caught in her Pull, and summoned a Veilstrike to knock them all over.

Dorian littered the ground with fire runes, and Varric started to pick off those he could once the Pull wore off, and with the help of the static cage and a bit of chain lightning, most of the slavers were dead in no more than two minutes. Cassandra and Cullen hadn’t even needed to move.

Lupa allowed the dust to settle for a moment before sliding off Ellana’s back, and the others followed her lead, their weapons still in hand, ready to spring back into action at any moment. When they reached the bodies in the middle of the road, they found one man struggling to push himself up.

He saw them start approaching them, and he started to speak very quickly in Tevene – Dorian cut him off, reaching out to roughly pull him up onto his knees and binding his hands behind him with a tendril of magic.

“Well, Dorian?” Lupa asked him casually. “Do we let him go to take a message to his friends, or do we put him out of his misery?”

Dorian spat at the man. “The only message he’ll carry back to his friends is where they can find us,” Dorian answered her.

Lupa nodded, and then she held out a hand, palm up. “Varric?”

The dwarf handed her a tiny, fragile glass bottle full of black liquid. She pulled the stopper out and let it slowly drip onto the man’s head. He was frantic now, pleading, and Dorian cut him off once again.

Lupa sighed. She hated handing people this sort of death, but of all the people to deserve it, slavers were pretty close to the top of her list. She handed the empty bottle and the stopper for it back to Varric, and then she snapped her fingers.

A spark flared in the pitch on the slaver’s head, and it quickly engulfed him. She didn’t wait to watch the man burn, instead turning back to the mounts down the road. She wanted to get away from the smell and the sound of the man’s vicious screaming.

“You think this is bad, you should have seen what she did to Alexius,” she thought she heard Dorian murmur to Cullen behind her.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen was on high alert.

He had been since the stepped off the ship, really, but today…

Today, they had decided to brave a market.

They were off route a bit, in a city called Solas, of all things. It was small, according to Dorian, but it seemed to Cullen to be much the same size as Denerim.

Cassandra and Varric had gone off on their own, the former muttering something about wanting to find a new whetstone, while Varric was on the hunt for writing supplies. Dorian had opted to stay with Cullen, Romulus, and Lupa, as an extra pair of eyes.

“Usually they aren’t so bold in the cities at high noon,” the mage explained as they passed through the city gates, “but they have made it more than clear that they intend to have Lupa in their clutches, so we must still be cautious.”

Lupa was ecstatic, but then again, she loved _any_ place she could spend money in. At the moment, she was busy interrogating Dorian.

“Oh, I should be able to find better mage gear here, shouldn’t I?” she asked, a little breathless.

“I would recommend it, actually. The things you have in the South are awful,” Dorian nodded to her.

Cullen adjusted his hand on Lupa’s back. He had his shield strapped to his arm, and he was using it to cover her back and neck. The last thing he needed was for a sniper to pick her off from behind.

They walked for a good quarter of an hour through the market without really taking too much time to look at anything; Lupa would gasp and point something out, and Dorian would approach the shopkeeper, share a few words, and then return to them with a shake of his head. Most of the stalls were peddling food, household items, or raw materials.

“The clothing and accessory shops will likely be further in,” Dorian told them at one point.

He was right, of course. They could tell they were approaching by the smell of incense and perfumes that started to drift towards them.

“There you go,” Dorian gestured towards a few different large stalls and shops, housing rows of robes and cloaks, some with stiff boards covered in necklaces and earrings. “Were I you, I would go to a jeweller for your magical accessories, but their clothing will be good enough for you. And enchanted, as well. Will you three be alright on your own for a few minutes? I’ve an appointment with the beautician just up the way.”

“We’ll be fine,” Cullen nodded. Dorian nodded to them and continued briskly up the road.

“Come on,” Lupa smiled at him. Cullen took a slow, deep breath and followed her quietly.

Lupa stood torn between two stalls; both of the vendors were busy with something, so she waited for the first one to be done. It turned out to be the man running the stall on their left, and they slowly approached them.

She was smiling, but the man barked something out at them in Tevene. They stopped short.

“Excuse me?” Cullen asked.

The man scoffed. “I said, I do not allow pets near my merchandise.”

Romulus snarled and told the man where to stuff his ‘no pets’ rule as he stepped into the shop with Lupa. The man’s eyes went wide, and he didn’t protest again.

“I apologize, ser.” Cullen had been watching Lupa begin her trip down one of the aisles of robes, but he turned to look at the vendor when the man spoke to him. He was also watching Lupa and Romulus carefully. “I do not have much that would suit a warrior such as – _eugh_ – could you please tell your knife-ear to stop touching my merchandise? No one will wish to buy anything after her fingers have defiled everything.”

Cullen glared at the man; how quickly could he get his sword out of his scabbard to lop the man’s head off?

_Get yourself under control, Rutherford. You’re in the homeland of elven oppression. You can’t kill everyone who slanders her, no matter how much you may wish to._

He dipped his chin at the vendor, and then made his way slowly to Lupa. He stood behind her in such a way that he could see the vendor past her, and then he carefully knelt on one knee, his shield held upright in front of him. “My Lady,” he announced.

Lupa turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. Rom sat regally at her side.

“My Lady, allow me to apologize,” he continued, watching the vendor from the corner of his eye. The man turned very white and his eyes went wide at the realization of what was happening in front of him. “The gentleman who runs this shop has requested that I ask you to stop perusing his wares, in fear that it will drive away future sales.”

Lupa’s expression went cold for a moment, and then she sighed loudly. “Ah, well, that’s a shame, isn’t it? The Inquisition’s mages could have made good use of this sort of equipment, though I wouldn’t exactly call it top quality. I’m sure we can find better elsewhere. And I’m sure someone else will not be bigoted enough to turn down a trading agreement with the largest organization in southern Thedas. Don’t you agree, Ser?”

“Absolutely, Lady Inquisitor,” Cullen agreed.

“Ah, Your Worship!” Dorian had just returned with a small parcel, and bowed low with a flourish next to Cullen. Lupa nodded to him, and they both righted themselves. “Have you found anything here to your liking?”

“Sadly, the _lovely_ gentleman here has asked us to leave.”

“How unfortunate,” Dorian snarled at the man. “Well, the young man across the street seemed friendly, and I daresay his stock looked to be of much finer quality. Perhaps you’ll find something more to your suiting there.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no-” the vendor started, trying to correct himself, but Cullen silenced him with a scathing look.  

“How’d I do?” Dorian murmured to him as they crossed the street.

A smile broke Cullen’s stern expression for the first time that day. “It was perfect.”

“Good afternoon, friends! Come in, come in!” The shop vendor was smiling widely and, Cullen thought, very genuinely. The shop continued into a long, narrow building, and he guided them all inside. “Do not worry yourselves about him. He loses more sales than he can count in a day to his narrow views. Allow me to humbly apologize on his behalf, and welcome you to my shop!”

“Thank you,” Lupa smiled. “May I take a look?”

“Absolutely! Please!” He gestured widely to the rows upon rows of robes and cloaks. “If you need help, one of my assistants should be on the floor for you.”

Lupa smiled, and her and Rom took off down one of the aisles with Dorian.

“Best be careful, son,” the merchant said quietly. “Wasn’t too smart to let her come ‘round these parts.”

“I’m well aware,” Cullen told him. “If it wasn’t important business…”

“Well, hopefully my gear will make it a little easier for her to weather the storms.”

Cullen regarded the man for a few seconds in silence. He was very small, short and petite, with the sort of face that could only be described as honest. “You’re awfully progressive.”

“I have many issues with the way things are run here,” the man answered with a slow nod. “I am not powerful enough to do anything to change it, but I do what I can.”

Cullen nodded in return, and then began weaving through the racks to find the others.

“What is this one lined with, Albin?” he heard Lupa ask from the other side of a rack of robes, and he made his way quickly to the end so he could loop around to them.

“Wolf pelts, Your Worship,” a young, fair-skinned boy told her. He was no more than ten. She frowned. “Oh no, have I done something wrong?”

“No, Albin, it’s okay. I just prefer to avoid wolf pelts when I can,” Lupa answered kindly, a hand falling to rest between Rom’s ears.

Romulus protested against her hesitation.

“He has a point, Lupa,” Cullen agreed. “You know well how soft and warm canine fur can be, and I think being warm in the mountains is more important than offending all the dogs of the world.”

Romulus told her to stop being so picky.

She laughed. “Alright, alright. What’s this blue one lined with, then?”

“White bear, from the very south of Ferelden,” the boy named Albin recited dutifully.

“Well, that’s interesting. Why do you carry clothes for such cold weather? I didn’t think it ever got cold enough for fur linings here.”

“Master Rafiq has many customers in Orlais who ask for such things. He has them made all year ‘round, and puts whatever he has on the racks during the warmer months in the south.”

“What do you think, Cullen?” Lupa asked him. Dorian came to stand by his side so he could see better while she modeled for them. First, she swung the cloak with the soft brown wolf’s fur lining around her neck. The outside was woven from soft, emerald green cotton, and a hood hung between her shoulder blades. She would need a clasp to hold it together.

“It suits you,” he smiled, “and Maker knows I’ll feel better about you out there travelling if I know you’ll be warm.”

She smiled back at him. “Okay, now how about this one?” She handed the green and brown cloak back to the young boy, and he handed her instead the bear-lined one, the fur inside a brilliant white to match Rom’s, the outside once again made of soft cotton in sapphire blue. It, too, had a hood that hung down her back.

“That one brings out your eyes,” Cullen immediately told her tenderly, and she flushed. Dorian cleared his throat from beside him.

“Which ones?” she replied with a cheeky smirk.

“Indeed… they’re both good options,” the mage agreed, ignoring her quip. “Hold here a moment.”

Dorian walked quickly back down the aisle and out of sight. They heard him speaking in lightning-speed Tevene with the shopkeep. A minute or two later, he stuck his head back around the corner at the end of the aisle.

“Bring them both,” he told them. “Master Rafiq will give us both, plus two boaches to keep them closed, for a hundred sovereigns.”

“A hundred?” Lupa asked, a little worried.

“Each of those robes is worth about seventy sovereigns apiece. Plus clasps?”

“Good point,” she sighed. “Can I really justify this, though?”

“Yes, you can,” Dorian called out behind him as he disappeared again. “I am frankly sick and tired of hearing about how cold you are on the mountain roads. The last thing we need is you falling ill to the weather.”

They followed the sound of Dorian’s voice back to where the shopkeep was standing behind his counter. Lupa and Dorian spent a few minutes discussing which clasps she should get for each cloak, and then she began rummaging for her coinpurse. Cullen put a gentle hand on her forearm.

“Let me,” he told her. She looked like she was about to protest, but he gave her a look that he hoped said _don’t even think about it_ ¸ and she sighed in defeat.

“Thank you, _da’mi_ ,” she muttered to him.

He nodded.

“We’ll be waiting just out front for you, Commander,” Dorian told him, and then they filed out of the storefront.

“Was it Albin helping her?”

“Yes, Master,” the boy answered from behind Cullen.

“It was,” Cullen confirmed.

“Thirty gold to him, then, and the rest to me.”

Cullen counted out the pieces, handing thirty to the boy as instructed.

“Thank you, Ser! I hope the Lady stays safe.”

“I’m doing my best to keep it that way.”

“Maker watch over you, son. Stay vigilant,” the shopkeeper told him with a nod of thanks. “She seems a good sort. I’d hate for the slavers to get her.”

“Let them continue to try,” Cullen snarled. “Their last kiss will be from my blade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am SO SORRY for how long this took.
> 
> I've been agonizing over these scenes for literally weeks, but they just absolutely refused to get out of my brain and onto the page. I think the next chapter may be a bit of a challenge, as well, but it should be a little smoother sailing moving forward from here. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience, and again for sticking with me and reading. You know how I feel about feedback!


	43. What Festered In the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? An update?! 
> 
> The Shrine of Dumat doesn't quite go to plan - but that's hardly the worst part of the day. In fact, it may even be the highlight. 
> 
> NSFW - Violence/gore warning, nudity.

Cullen dragged his feet as he walked, his shoulders slumped in defeat as they put the Shrine of Dumat behind them.

_All of that struggle, and for nothing_.

No, not for nothing; just not for what he had hoped. Maddox was dead, but they had his tools. Dagna would be able to make use of those. Samson knew they’d found his base and managed to flee before they arrived, but all signs pointed to the information being relayed to him _very_ recently. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pass word to Leliana. She’d want to know, in case someone was compromised.

A soft touch brushed against the gloved hand still gripping tight to his drawn sword, and he started, relaxing when he realized it was Lupa’s hand on his. She looked at him squarely, with a silent question in her eyes.

_Are you okay?_

Cullen sighed deeply, and then nodded a few times. Today had been difficult, but there was no point in dwelling on it. Best to just consider the best course of action based on the results and move on.

They all walked in silence; even Varric and Dorian wore sombre expressions, and Cassandra was particularly stormy. Only Romulus seemed to be feeling okay, his contentment at not letting any of them die failing to infect the rest of them.

When their still-standing campsite came back in to view, they drifted apart. Romulus disappeared into the surrounding forest, Cassandra and Varric each ducked into their tents with a murmured goodnight, ready to sleep off the stress of the day, and Dorian plunked down next to the fire, offering soundlessly to take the first watch.

Cullen nodded his thanks to the mage as he followed Lupa to their tent, and Dorian nodded in return. There were dark circles and prominent bags under the Tevinter’s eyes, and Cullen wondered if Dorian had been sleeping as poorly as he had.

Lupa murmured her thanks as well before stalking over to Cullen’s tent and ducking inside. By the time Cullen got in, she was already almost done undressing; when she was done, her aura expanded through the tent, pulling all of his buckles and knots open for him so he could get ready for bed more quickly.

She was already asleep when he joined her. She had fought harder than any of them today, that much he could say with certainty. His barriers never faltered once, and she had managed to kill everything that came within five feet of him almost before he could swing his sword at it.

Despite how tired he was, he just couldn’t sleep – he hadn’t since they passed Cumberland. The stress and fear of being attacked by slavers made him restless, especially since she wasn’t sleeping in his tent with him most nights.

He shut his eyes and drifted some, but after a few hours, he woke suddenly with a heavy feeling of unease in his stomach. Eyes shut, he listened carefully to the sounds around them – it was too quiet outside, the sound of a twig snapping barely reaching his ears from somewhere across the camp. Were it a bit noisier, he might have just assumed someone was heading out to relieve themselves.

Cullen shifted and pulled his arm out from under Lupa’s head. Her twitching stopped abruptly, and he pulled her hair out of her face. He assumed she was waking slowly, so he pulled on pants, boots, and a shirt quickly, grabbing his sword belt and his shield before emerging into the night to wait for her.

Dorian was still sitting at the fire, his shoulders tense as his head shifted subtly from side to side, following the path of his eyes.

Cullen frowned in question, and Dorian gave him a few tight little nods. “What are you doing up?” he called, maybe a bit too loudly. “You’ve still got an hour before I came to get you.”

“Couldn’t sleep – you know,” Cullen murmured in response, his hand tight on the grip of his sword. Cullen sat across the fire from Dorian, mimicking his stance, ready to spring.

It was too dark to see, but Cullen caught the reflection of two huge eyes in the shadows of the forest; knowing that Romulus was out scouting and watching helped him feel better, but he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

Romulus’ eyes went dark, and another twig snapped in the forest. There were slavers out there, but all they could do was wait.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Romulus kept his gaze up but his nose low to the ground, following the trail of scents carefully and silently.

These slavers must have been blind to miss him slipping between the trees behind them. He had found each and every one of their little hiding places, and now he was circling back to get the most advantageous strike against them, his thoughts held close so his prey wouldn’t hear them.

There was a group near Cullen’s tent, where Lupa was sleeping, but Romulus was sure Cullen wouldn’t have left her alone for an instant. Instead, he planned to strike at the leader. Without a leader to coordinate them, their ambush would be exposed early, and their plan had a better chance of failing.

He found them, hiding behind the Moustache’s back – one was an archer, perhaps planning to take him out before the others could get to him. The leader and the other who was with them, a dual-wielder, had hands ready on weapons, but Romulus knew it would be too tight in there for the two of them to draw and swing without risking killing each other once he was in there.

He was alone, and so he wouldn’t be able to herd them all – that would be easier if Lupa could be alerted, could call a pack to help. He supposed he could let loose a howl and see what responded, but that meant giving his position away, and the slavers knew of him now.

No, he’d have to rely on hunting the way big wild cats of the north hunted. It wasn’t preferable, but it was comfortable, and familiar.

 Now, he had to make a decision – did he take the leader, and risk the archer firing at the Moustache? Or did he take the archer out, and let the leader call out their signal?

_Or maybe…_ Romulus ducked his head and slunk through the shadows, gathering his innate magic around him for a quick and precise strike.

The archer _was_ the signal.

He slitted his eyes, not wanting one of the men to turn around and see them reflecting in the distant firelight. A few deep breaths, a few little wiggles, and he was ready to pounce.

He loosed his magic, streaking out between the trees quick as light, snatching the archer by the back of the neck and hauling him back into the woods, slamming his back against a tree.

A sickening _crack_ echoed through the forest – it was the only sound signalling the archer’s departure from his group. Romulus had been so quick the man hadn’t even had time to scream.

Romulus pulled the man’s throat out, just to be sure. He didn’t care if the man suffered as he died – he was after Lupa, after all, and Romulus didn’t care about honour and mercy as she did – but a shout would alert the others, and a back break didn’t always kill.

He deposited the body further into the woods for the scavengers to find before turning back the way he’d come. He had the energy and magic for one more strike – this time the leader – and then he’d force them all out into the open for a proper fight.

Rom got into position behind the leader, and settled in to spring again. He caught sight of Cullen coming to sit across the fire from the Moustache, and Cullen looked up, making eye contact with him across the distance for only a few seconds. He saw the man shift, his shield in front of his knees and his sword hand folding across his lap, no doubt preparing to jump into a fight. But where was his Sister? Was she dressing?

“ _Fasta vass_ , that one’s her plaything, isn’t it?” the leader murmured in Tevene. “Best we change targets, Corvo, I think Altus Pavus would fetch us more fortune in ransom than he would – Corvo?”

His companion swore, too. “Where’d he go? He was right here a few seconds ago!”

“He better not be out shitting in the woods, we can’t crouch here forever,” grumbled the leader.

They both turned back to watch the Moustache and Cullen, and Romulus streaked out again, taking the leader with him.

Another sickening crack of spine breaking, and another throat torn out. Romulus took a few deep breaths, priding himself on his good work. Now to frighten the other one into the open.

Once more he stalked back. He wasn’t even in sight of the other man when his nose coated thick with the scent of fear.

“Brutus? _Brutus!”_ hissed the dual-wielder, cowering behind his bush. This time, Romulus allowed himself to be seen, his eyes reflecting sickly in the distant firelight, blood coating his fur as he slowly, _slowly_ inched out of the shadows.

The man’s eyes went wide for a few seconds, and then his flight instinct kicked in – he screeched, voice breaking as he surged to his feet and fled straight toward Cullen and the Moustache.

He didn’t even stand – Cullen’s head snapped up to watch the man, and the Moustache gave a flippant wave over his shoulder, setting the man aflame.

The rest of the slavers cried out in surprise, and then the camp was flooded. The Moustache and Cullen jumped to their feet, the Storm and the Stone Child barrelling out of their tents with weapons drawn and armour in place, ready to fight.

Romulus tossed his head back, a howl escaping him, and then he surged forward again, intent on joining the fray, the scent of blood thick in his nostrils.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen’s sword rang as he pulled it from its sheath, and he knocked an arrow aside with his shield.

“Dorian!” he shouted. “A barrier would be great!”

“I’m working on it!” Dorian called back.

Cullen jumped in front of him and fought back a rogue who was trying to flank him. “Not for me, for _you!”_

“ _I’m working on it!”_

Cullen felt it wash over him, too, around the same time Cassandra and Varric burst from their tents, fully armoured and decidedly more prepared than he was.

Romulus howled, and then he dove into the sea of slavers who were over-running their camp, tripping and ripping and tearing, already covered in blood from whatever he’d done before the first one attacked. Another arrow came whizzing towards them, and Cullen instinctively raised his shield, his arm jarring when it bounced off the heavy metal face, leaving a dent.

Romulus streaked out again, searching for the archers, no doubt, and Cullen gave in to the rush of adrenaline and the instinct that carried him through a fight. The slavers they’d encountered so far weren’t used to resistance, but this group seemed at least a little bit more competent than the usual ones. And Maker damn them, there were _so many of them_ , but Dorian’s magic was well-suited to large groups, although it wasn’t as effective as-

Cullen realized, far too late, that Lupa wasn’t out fighting with them. The shock hit him as hard as her aura as it filled the clearing viciously, a wild yell coming from her as their tent flashed purple with her lightning.

_Shit Maker_ FUCK.

How had he been so careless? How had he _forgotten_ about her? She hadn’t woken up, _he should have shaken her,_ what was he _thinking?!_

“LUP – _raaauuuugh!”_

Someone shouted what sounded like his name, but he barely heard, his senses overwhelmed by the excruciating pain radiating from his side. He didn’t need to look down to see it, but he did anyway – there was a sword protruding from the front of him, its point sticking out a few feet from the front of his stomach. The blade was flat; it had slipped between two of his ribs, piercing a number of vital organs in the process, he was sure. He tried to take a breath to collect himself, but _Maker_ ,it _hurt,_ and it offered no relief. _Got a lung then. Fantastic. Andraste preserve me, I cannot fall here…_

But the fight raged on around him in half time, and he watched, fascinated, as Romulus leapt past him with a feral snarl, going after whoever was still gripping the sword that was starting to slide from its place in his chest-

Cullen screamed again when the grip jerked and the blade sliced free, straight through his side. He dropped to his knees, his sword falling from his hand, consumed by the pain and the darkness that was seeping into his vision. He tried to breathe, but all he received was _pain_ , and would he suffocate or lose too much blood first? Which would be a worse way to die?

He barely registered another barrier washing over him, until a second one washed _through_ him, and then he forced his eyes up to look.

Lupa was ahead, staff in hand, eyes reflecting in the darkness. He could see the magic swirling around her, not unlike when he had mistaken her for Andraste, glowing out of the golden lines of her tattoos like righteous, holy power. She called fire from the heavens, great flaming rocks, that struck each and every last slaver with precision.

But she was within him, as well, a soft touch of her mind against his both wild and alien yet _familiar_ , and he clung to it with every last ounce of his willpower.

Hands were on his shoulders, easing him back onto the ground as Lupa ran to him. She knelt in front of him, nonsense words falling from her lips as she screamed at someone, and then Dorian was at his side, too, handing her a little blue potion.

_I love you so much. I’m so sorry._

Cullen closed his eyes, and hoped she heard him.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Dorian, _help me_!” Lupa cried as she skidded to a halt, kneeling at Cullen’s bloody, torn side. He was bleeding everywhere, if they didn’t get this tended to quickly enough…

But Dorian was frozen.

“ _What?!”_ she snarled.

“You – You’re-”

Lupa was appalled. She hadn’t worn anything to bed – a stupid decision, she knew – and certainly hadn’t had time to get dressed when the slavers cut their way into the back of her tent to try to drag her out.

Her voice started low, quiet, and vicious. “Cullen is bleeding out on us in front of your eyes, and _you want me to go and PUT MY CLOTHES ON?! GET DOWN HERE AND HELP ME!”_

Dorian cleared his throat and knelt on Cullen’s other side, pulling a lyrium potion for each of them from his belt. They downed them as quickly as they could, and then they went to work.

“I need a health potion, and a – Cullen?” Lupa started to panic. His eyes had slid closed. “ _Cullen!”_

“Focus, Lupa, you’re no help to him if you panic. A health potion and a regen potion, if you’d please, you two,” Dorian finished for her, looking up at Cassandra and Varric.

Lupa’s hands shook as she placed one to Cullen’s chest, just above his heart. She had learned a trick from a Circle mage at the Conclave, one who specialized in healing. She had been a sweet girl, kind, accepting but bursting with curiosity. Lupa wished that the other mage – what was her name, Trevelyan? – she wished she had made it out, too.

She offered a silent prayer to the other woman for her instruction as she slowed Cullen’s heart rate down. He was still alive, and the blood stopped gushing from his torn side as quickly after she did.

She focused on closing his wounds, layer by layer, as Dorian carefully helped him drink the two potions Cassandra and Varric had provided them. She burned through three more lyrium potions by the time her work was done.

“Water,” she whispered. Cassandra handed over her waterskin, and Lupa took a gulp before offering it to Dorian. He took it, and reached for a clean cloth, wetting it and pressing it to Cullen’s lips.

Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder. Lupa didn’t look up – she was drained magically, physically, and emotionally, and she didn’t think she could move from this place until Cullen was as good as new. When she didn’t budge, the Seeker grabbed her upper arm and hauled her up gently.

“Go try to sleep. I will take over from here. The last of the magical healing is completed?”

Lupa wavered on her feet. “I need to elevate his heartrate again. He’ll sleep forever if I don’t.”

“There’s no harm in leaving him this way for a few more hours,” Dorian replied. “I’ll take care of it. Go rest.”

But Lupa couldn’t rest, she knew she wouldn’t. She went back to their tent, grabbed a shirt and a pair of pants, and dressed hastily before plodding out through the back tear in their tent into the woods.

The others would worry, but she needed to escape.

 

*                             *                             *

 

She wasn’t difficult to find.

Romulus was still covered in blood, but so was she. He didn’t feel out of place as he sat down beside her and let out a mournful, quiet howl.

She was hollow – he was sure more tears would have fallen if she had any more to let go. They sat in audible silence, but between them was a current of thought, emotion, sensation, and Romulus knew her better than anybody.

She was terrified. She was exhausted. And above all else, she was livid.

_He didn’t wake me. Why didn’t he wake me?_ she asked eventually, even the telepathic words clipped and thick with grief.

Romulus was confused as well, and let her know as much. It wasn’t like Cullen – but he hadn’t been sleeping well, worse than was usual for him. Perhaps exhaustion finally caught up with him.

_This is what I was most afraid of, Rom. Not slavery, not torture, not being sacrificed – losing him for some stupid noble reason. I don’t even know if he’s going to survive. He lost so much blood._

Romulus tried to console her. She was right to be angry. Even he felt guilty – had he known that Cullen hadn’t roused her properly, he would have dealt with the slavers by her tent and woken her himself.

_You didn’t know,_ she answered. _You couldn’t… Creators, they’re going to take_ him _from me, too. Haven’t they taken enough of me?_

She sniffed, and Romulus laid down, putting his head in her lap. She leaned over him, and when his fur soaked through with more of her tears, her emotions running high through him, he couldn’t help but pine with her.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen groaned.

He was content with his eyes closed, still, but there was a harsh pain deep in his left side, and he had no idea where he was. A yawn clawed its way up his throat, but the stretch of his lungs made him wince and groan again.

He cracked an eye open, and saw the roof of his tent. He looked right, and found the tent wall less than a foot away, and then turned his head to the left, his gaze immediately drawn to a large tear in the fabric of his tent that had been patched closed.

He was alone for the moment, and tried to sit up – he gave up after only a second, flopping back onto his back with a huff and another wince. He wondered if he should try calling out for someone. He was thirsty, and apparently he couldn’t get up to get his waterskin on his own.

Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to recall what had happened. The details of the slaver fight were slow to return, and as they came to him, so did the guilt. He hadn’t woken her properly, they’d almost _got her_ , and then he went and almost died. He could still see the look on her face, hear the panic in her voice just before he closed his eyes.

A rustle of fabric distracted him from his thoughts, and he immediately opened his eyes again, looking for the source of the sound. He was met with the sight of Lupa, looking tired and disheveled, with a waterskin and fresh cloths in hand.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him staring back at her. “You’re awake,” she whispered.

He nodded at her, and she padded over to him silently, putting the waterskin to his lips and holding the back of his head so he could drink. The position forced him to drink slowly, but it was just as well, he was sure.

“When did you wake?”

Cullen tried to speak, but only a squeak came out, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Maybe ten minutes ago?”

Lupa nodded. “And how do you feel?”

“Sore. Tender.” He tried to sit up again, but this time she pushed him down.

“Stay there, and do not move. You’re still healing. I was able to put you back together enough that you wouldn’t die, but the tissue is still too new and needs time to strengthen again.”

“Thank you,” he croaked out, his guilt returning.

Lupa looked at him in silence for a few seconds, and he could see the anger burning bright in the forefront of her eyes. She got up and straddled his hips, and then she continued to seethe at him.

Her hands balled into tight fists, and he flinched as one struck the floor of the tent next to his ear, her knuckles cracking loudly at the impact. “What were you _thinking?!”_ she finally hissed. “Leaving me in here all alone, _asleep_ , when you knew there were slavers out there? You realize that this _wouldn’t have happened_ if I was there to keep an eye on you? And aside from that, _they almost FUCKING got me!”_

Cullen somehow shrunk in on himself in the face of her anger. He deserved this, he knew it, and a hand came down next to his ear again.

“You almost _died._ Your Maker help you, if you _ever_ do that again-” Lupa choked on a sob, and then tears started to fall, finally. “I almost lost you. I almost _couldn’t save you._ Don’t you – don’t you _ever-_ ”

Cullen reached up and put his hands on her shoulders, and she laid forward against his chest, her tears rolling across his exposed skin as she shook with the force of her tears under his arms. He rubbed her back, stroked her hair, and apologized profusely.

“I love you. I’m so sorry.” He repeated it over and over and over again like it was the prayer that saved him.

She fell asleep eventually, and so did he, the comforting weight of her against his chest and the smell of her under his nose giving him better rest than he’d had before. He woke once as she jerked in her sleep, her head bumping into his jaw and making him bite his tongue. When he woke next, it was to the sound of heavy footfalls approaching the tent.

He opened his eyes and tipped his head sideways to find Cassandra peeking her head in. He took a hand from Lupa’s back to put a finger to his lips, and then waved her in.

“I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you awake again, Commander,” she whispered as she settled cross-legged on the floor next to them. “You were out for two whole nights. How do you feel?”

Cullen made a face at her, afraid that he might wake Lupa if he spoke. Cassandra shook with silent laughter. “Yes, I imagine so.” She paused for a few seconds. “It is good to see her sleeping – she’s barely gotten any since you fell. It is not my place to say so, but perhaps next time you could _not_ let someone run you through?”

This time it was Cullen’s turn to laugh, and Lupa shifted on his chest, a little sigh escaping her as she woke.

“Sorry, love,” he murmured to her, and she snuggled closer.

Cassandra laughed again, audibly this time. Lupa yawned widely before speaking. “Hello, Cassandra. We’re fine.”

“I am already well aware, but you requested that I check in on you if you didn’t emerge after a couple of hours.” She slowly got to her feet and rearranged her underarmour beneath her chestplate. “Romulus has offered to find us fare for dinner. Do you think you’ll be joining us?”

Lupa nodded against Cullen’s chest. “Come wake us up again when it’s done?”

Cassandra nodded. “Of course. Rest. I daresay you’ve earned it.” She smiled once more at them, and then she ducked back out.

A little snore escaped Lupa, and Cullen laughed again. This time she didn’t wake, but he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and then he closed his eyes, too, following her into much needed sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Romulus this chapter. I love Rom, and I realized recently that I've been kind of neglecting him, so I want to try to bring him into events more. If you haven't read his backstory yet, you can find it in the series I've created for this stuff, or just on the main page of my works. It's titled 'Firstborn of the Hunt'.
> 
> What a delay. I have no excuse this time, except for crippling writer's block and burn-out in general. I've been working on some stuff on Tumblr, namely an OC ship with xStephyG, which a clever eye may have noticed referenced in passing here - not quite the same as their AU, but implying that they met at the Conclave. Just a little nod I wanted to throw in. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for waiting. I hope this chapter lives up to what's come before, and I feel really good about finally getting this out - hopefully I can keep that forward momentum going. 
> 
> Also I'm not going to be able to play Trespasser right away now thanks to this, but it's so worth it.


	44. Wicked Grace: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the writing style is easier to understand if you realize that the characters are drunk for most of the chapter?
> 
> Not safe for work, by the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I published Cassandra's vignette! If you haven't read 'Dear Diary' yet, and you want to, it's been added to the series. I recommend reading it before starting this chapter.

Lupa actually kissed Skyhold’s stone bridge when they returned.

The rest of the party laughed at her, but their spirits were unusually high; she wasn’t the only one happy to be back home. Romulus gave an excited _yip_ and darted between the soldiers in the training field as the rest of them walked their mounts back to the stables.

It was just after lunch when they got in. They were given half an hour to get something hot to eat at the tavern, and then Lupa and Cullen were pulled into a War Council that lasted until just before dinner.

Lupa spent the night alone, working on getting caught up on reports. She went to bed early, and slept in, surprised to wake and find Cassandra sitting on the couch with a tray of food and two steaming mugs of tea waiting for her.

“I apologize, Lupa, but I noticed that you missed breakfast,” she stated as Lupa sat up, stretching and rubbing her eyes clear. “The Commander wanted to come check on you, but I had been waiting to speak with you, so I volunteered to come up instead.”

Lupa yawned, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, making Romulus lift a sleepy head from his paws next to her. “I’m becoming positively _civilized_ , Cass,” she quipped. “Can you believe I actually missed my bed?”

Cassandra laughed. “You’d think the world was coming to an end. Oh wait…”

Lupa rolled her eyes and snorted as she disappeared into her closet, discarding her sleeping clothes and dressing for the day as quickly as possible.

They dragged chairs and a table out onto the west balcony, sharing details of their trips home over breakfast. They had made a detour to Valence on the way home; a letter from the late Divine had instructed Leliana to go there, and the Spymaster had asked Lupa to come along. Lupa had invited Leliana to continue travelling with them, but she refused, so Lupa insisted she take either Cassandra or Cullen for the trip back to Skyhold. She took Cassandra.

“Anything exciting happen since you got back?” Lupa asked as she sipped on her tea, the last of their food gone.

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, and immediately flushed red, closing her mouth and biting her bottom lip, trying to hide a smile. She looked at her hands on her own mug for a few seconds and then stood, gliding over to the balcony railing. “Rev-” she started, and then sighed, resting her elbows on the bannister.

It took Lupa all of four seconds to piece it all together, and then she laughed musically. “Cass, you have to tell me _everything._ ”

“I am not as good at telling stories as you are. It will all sound very academic,” Cassandra shot back, looking at her through the corner of her eye.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to get out of this, Cass,” Lupa told her. “There is _no way_ , after all of that build-up, that I’m _not_ hearing all about this. Did he do something romantic? Candles? Poetry? And how was he? I can get Cullen drunk and tell him to give Revasan some pointers-”

Cassandra reached out to grab her arm in horror at that, and Lupa laughed kindly at her again. “It was… very romantic, actually,” Cassandra finally told her. “Candles. Poetry. A beautiful starry sky, the wind in the leaves of the trees.”

“I miss that,” Lupa admitted a little sheepishly.

“I can see why,” Cassandra admitted. “And he – well, I suppose _I_ started it…”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Lupa checked herself in her full-length looking glass one more time before heading down the steps to her door.

Despite not needing to do anything urgent today, she still felt the day was long. Cassandra had stayed for another two hours, finally telling her all about her first night with Revasan. From there, she had worked on her slowly shrinking pile of reports until lunch, and then checked in on all of her Inner Circle, taking up most of the time until dinner.

Varric had requested that she come back later – he had been busy earlier when she tried to talk to him. So she was headed down now.

Dusk had just passed, leaving the main hall dark save for the torches lining the walls and the moonlight filtering through the huge stained glass windows behind her throne. It was a very romantic space, actually, with the lighting like this. She daydreamed about dancing with Cullen in the empty hall, until she came within earshot of Varric and his voice brought her back to her senses.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. You’re just in time, we almost had to start without you,” he told her, arms held out in a great gesture of welcome.

Lupa had no idea what he was talking about. “We can’t have _that_ , now, can we?”

Varric just chuckled and waved for her to follow.

They ended up in the Herald’s Rest, which was, surprisingly, empty – save for most of her Inner Circle, who had drinks set up around a large table.

“I’ve found her! Deal her in, Ruffles,” Varric announced.

Lupa settled into her seat across from Varric, waiting for Josephine on her right to give her her cards. Her Father was working the bar tonight, giving Cabot the night off, and he brought her over a tankard of his mead, giving it to her with a kiss on the top of her head.

She giggled, taking a drink – and almost spat it out when Cullen spoke up.

“You seem to have enough people,” Cullen almost snarled, shaking his head and making to leave. “I have a thousand things to do.”

Dorian spoke up before Lupa could, as she was choking on her mouthful of mead. “Losing money can be both relaxing, and habit-forming. Give it a try.”

“Curly, if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it’s you,” Varric threw in.

“Besides, Cullen,” Lupa added, “this could very well end up like that game we played back in Haven.”

“Who’s going to escort her home if you leave now, Curly?” Varric chimed in again, too.

“What’s this? A game in Haven? Why haven’t I heard about this?” Dorian asked.

“It was hot,” Bull answered.

Cullen sat back down and threw his hands up in the air in defeat, looking at Lupa through his lashes. No doubt they were both remembering the moment the other lost just enough of their clothing, all that time ago. She wondered if they’d get to that point again, and whether she’d end up claiming another of his shirts.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“What did he do?” Josephine asked, fearful and excited and just a little bit tipsy.

Cullen smiled and chuckled at the memory – one of the good ones from Kinloch Hold. “Saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out like he was in full armour.”

He watched the table erupt with a small amount of pride. He heard Lupa over them all, as if his ears were more attuned to the sound of her mirth over the others, and he watched the way her face shone with glee. The butterflies were long gone, now, but that familiar sense of peace came over him.

Varric said something to his right, but he was too focused on Lupa to hear him.

“Alright, I’ve got one for you,” Lupa smirked. She waited until everyone was watching her before she started her tale, and Cullen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he waited for her to begin.

“Our Clan went out of our usual route for an Arlathven one year, and camped in the shadow of a ruined fortress. It was right on the edge of the Tirashan, and the weather was sour; it was dark as the bottom of a well most nights.

“Our Keeper was usually a good judge of these places, and swore up and down that it was safe, but some of our Hunters started hearing noises in the middle of the night. I volunteered to go in for a night, to see if I could flush out the problem.

“I was… nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” Mahanon corrected from behind the bar as he cleaned a glass, “and more stubborn than a halla.”

“Yes, _thank_ you, _papae_ ,” Lupa rolled her eyes as the others laughed, but smiled over her shoulder at her father before continuing. “Anyway, I volunteered to go in. Our Hunters insisted on coming in with me, but I was better suited to these sorts of places, so they let me go. Owain, however, I couldn’t shake.”

She paused to take a long pull from her tankard, and Cullen did the same as he waited. “So we went in, the following night. It was getting dark early by that time of the year, and the noises were starting just past dusk, so we tried to get in ahead of them.

“I remember we met this curious little creature on the way in – I have no idea what it would be called, but it’s sort of the size of a very large housecat, with tiny eyes and a huge, long, pointy snout and lots of sharp teeth. A scavenger, anyway, and we found it hanging by its tail from a tree.”

“A possum, perhaps?” Dorian inquired. “It sounds like a possum. Anyway, please continue.”

Lupa raised a brow at Dorian, and Cullen smirked, taking another drink. “I startled it, I think, and woke it up. I apologized, and then it decided to tag along with us into the ruin. It wanted our food,” she snorted.

“We got into this ruin, and it was… fascinating. Old murals on every wall, paintings everywhere. Tributes to the Creators all over the place. I’d have loved to study it, but I had a task, and that had to come first.

“Owain and I found a small room that was close to the exit of the ruin, and set up a little camp. I set up a magical fire, and settled in for a cold dinner. We’d been there for about an hour when we heard the first of the noises.

“Romulus was a huge help – he could hear farther and better than Owain and I could, and we discovered the source of the noise fairly quickly.”

“What was it?” Cullen asked immediately, surprising himself with how invested he was.

She smiled warmly at him, and then her hands spread over the table. An eagle’s eye view of the layout of the ruin appeared on the table, and everyone leaned in to take a closer look. “Here was the main entrance,” she pointed, “and here was the little room we claimed.”

It was down the hall from the main entrance, and around a corner. It couldn’t have been anything more than a storage cupboard. Four blue circles appeared in the room, and then a handful of red circles appeared scattered throughout the Temple. “I’m still not sure if they were already there when we arrived or not, but it was hardly anything sinister. There was a small village nearby, and some of the more desperate young adults had decided to come up and explore the ruins. I’m not sure what the purpose of it was, but I have to assume they were doing it to get a thrill, believing that desecrating the place might invoke old curses.”

“I don’t understand,” Cole murmured. “Why would they want to hurt the Temple for fun?”

“They were bored, and superstitious,” Lupa answered kindly. “And it wasn’t their history that they were harming in the meanwhile.” The smile slid off of her face for a moment as she considered it, and Cullen wished the table wasn’t quite so large. He wanted to reach across and hold her hand. “Anyway, we listened, and waited for them to come across to our side of the Temple. It was a little cruel, but I remember being distraught – they were intentionally smearing paint over the frescoes, smashing the tiled mosaics, marking corners like dogs – and I decided I was going to give them the fright they were asking for.

“I set the fire at the perfect angle, so that we wouldn’t be visible from down the hall, but our shadows would play big and twisted on the blank back wall. We waited silently until Rom told us they were just about to come around the corner, and then we stood.

“Rom started to growl; just a low rumble, but in the ruin, it was ringing. Owain and I started chanting nonsense in elvhen – ‘the apple is red and falls from the tree,’ that sort of nonsense. We could see their torchlight just down the hall come to a stop.

“And then the… ‘possum’ comes out and starts making this – I don’t even know how to describe the noise it made,” Lupa admitted. The temple’s floor plan disappeared, and instead she conjured an image of the wall she was describing. They all turned in their seats to watch it, and Cullen had to admit that it would have been terrifying if he didn’t know the source.

Romulus was visible, his image flickering and twisted, nose low and shoulders hunched like the descriptions of werewolves in the fiction books he’d read as a child. His jaws snapped, and his teeth pulled long in the flickering light cast by the fire. Then an image of an elf, long and skinny, ears sticking out and staff held out in a strong stance at their side – Lupa no doubt – joined Romulus’ image on the wall.

They all jumped as the last shadow played.

“The ‘possum’ just moved into the perfect spot and opened its mouth,” Lupa continued, “and that was enough to send three of them running, screaming all the while. Two stood their ground, and I decided I needed to give them more motivation to leave.” Her shadow wall disappeared. “I conjured about twenty little harsh white lights behind me, and made sure they would always be out of sight of the last two shemlen in the hall, and then I stepped out in my large cloak, staff in hand. The lighting left me perfectly silhouetted, so they couldn’t see me properly – just an elf with a staff.”

She snapped her fingers, and the lights played behind her again. They were so harsh that even with the extra lighting in the tavern, they shadowed her face. “I let my magic fill the hallway – even if they weren’t sensitive to it, they would have known something felt different. And then I reached out with my aura and shoved one in the shoulder.”

Dorian jerked backwards in his chair. “Hey! Did you have to use _me_ as your example?”

“Would you rather I used you for the next one?” Lupa asked.

Cullen yelped and half-jumped from his seat; she had pinched his rear. He looked at her accusingly, and she retaliated by silently grabbing his crotch.

Cullen’s eyes went wide, and the table laughed kindly.

“Well?”

“Don’t _stop_ , woman!” Dorian chastised her. “I want to see how red he can get!”

“Well, _I_ want to hear the end of this story,” Cullen countered.

Lupa chuckled. “Well, I teased them like that a few times. They yelled something out to me – something about not being afraid, or something like that, but I knew they were. So I gathered my aura, and used it to pull their breeches down to their ankles.”

Cullen had just taken a drink to hide his still-hot face, and almost spat his ale out at the unaffected way she had just thrown out her last sentence.

The table was in shock. “That was what broke them,” she giggled. “They ran out of there, tripping over their own feet, bare asses shining in the moonlight the whole way back to their village!”

They all laughed again, and a round of applause went up around the table.

“You ought to tell stories more often!” Blackwall commented.

“You don’t mind if I use that, do you?” Varric asked.

Cullen barely heard it all; he was, once again, focused entirely on Lupa across the table, and the way she was absently using her aura to trace lines up and down his thighs.

He shivered as her finger traced his length, and he found himself wondering just how much longer they were going to be there for.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Not a word, dwarf,” Cullen snarled at Varric.

“I tried to warn you, Curly.”

“ _Never_ bet against an Antivan, Commander.”

Lupa was biting her lip to keep from laughing; the others weren’t so kind.

Cassandra was the next one to speak. She finished her drink and put her mug back down on the table with an audible _thunk._ “I’m leaving,” she announced, throwing a loaded glance at Lupa before continuing. “I don’t want to witness our Commander’s walk of shame back to the barracks.”

“Well I do!” Dorian announced loudly, looking at her as if she’d told him he smelled bad as she rose from her seat.

“It comes off. I didn’t know it came off…” Cole murmured.

“Cassandra, wait!” Josephine called, and she immediately pushed back her chair, prancing over to the door to join Cassandra. Everyone started drifting away from the table then, but Lupa stayed right where she was.

Cullen frowned deeply at her. Thankfully, she had stopped teasing him when he started losing his clothes, otherwise he’d _never_ be able to get up from the table. He nodded sideways at her – a silent _Get out of here!_ – and she raised an eyebrow at him, but she grinned and rose from her seat, turning her back to allow him his escape. He pushed his chair back, bracing his hands on the edge of the table, and took a deep breath as he scanned the room.

When he was sure the coast was reasonably clear, he stood and bolted, not stopping until he made it, chest heaving, back to his office.

 _I am_ never _playing cards again._

_*                             *                             *_

Lupa giggled to herself as she reached his door.

Naturally, it was locked; she expected as much. She knocked loudly, and let her aura expand, until she was reasonably sure that he would know it was her.

“Come in,” she heard, muffled, through the wooden door, and she let her magic slide the bolt from the other side so she could enter.

She struggled with the door; her hands were full of Cullen’s armour, and while she could have used her magic to carry it along, she thought it best if she didn’t tonight. There was no reason why she couldn’t carry it. When she finally managed to get the door to swing open, she turned and pushed it shut, using her magic to slide the bolt back in to place.

When she turned around and caught sight of Cullen again, she snorted; she couldn’t help it. He was sitting in his chair behind his desk, still nude, staring angrily at the map tacked to his desktop with his arms crossed against his chest.

His eyes flicked up to her as she started to step towards him, his cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment. “Not. A. Word.”

Lupa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I brought these back for you,” she nodded down at his effects in her arms, “but I’ve been informed that you are to be kept from wearing them again until the morning.”

“What does it matter?” Cullen asked. “I’m going out again tonight.”

“No, maybe not,” Lupa admitted, putting her armful down carefully next to his training dummy and moving to sit on the edge of his desk. “But I enjoyed watching you lose. I’m _still_ enjoying it.”

Cullen sighed aggressively. “I don’t need help embarrassing myself in front of you.”

Lupa just continued to watch him, and his expression finally softened. “Did you have fun?” she asked him quietly.

“Despite having to run back here naked – yes, I did,” Cullen chuckled.

“I have to admit, I spent most of the night recalling our game back in Haven,” Lupa told him, sliding down so that she was sitting in front of him. “I don’t remember much of it, still, but I remember thinking myself an absolute idiot for not inviting you in with me when you got me home.”

“Is that so?” Cullen asked.

Lupa smiled at him. “I’m sure I had all kinds of ideas. Instead, I…” she sighed and stopped talking, biting her lip and feeling the heat flooding her face. She remembered what she had done to herself that night with strangely perfect clarity.

“You what?” Cullen asked her. He leaned forward, closer to her, but she had seen his response to her words: his eyes had grown dark, and his length started to harden. She wondered if he was trying to hide it.

“Well, I… I had to take care of myself,” she told him. “I was wound so tight, and I was so _wet_ , thinking about the way your hands would feel on me.” She paused a moment to watch him react to her words. He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. “And you gave me your shirt. It smelled so much like you, I… I just couldn’t take it off.”

“What did you do to yourself?” he asked her, his voice deep and rough. “Do you remember?”

Lupa smirked at him. “Well, I had one hand under your shirt,” she told him, mimicking the motion; her forearm dragged the fabric up, exposing a good amount of her stomach as she grabbed at one of her breasts, “and the other down here.”

She watched Cullen’s eyes following her movement as she slid her other hand between her legs, drawing little circles over the fabric of her breeches. She could barely feel it, but having Cullen watching her like this set her pulse racing, throbbing between her legs.

“I seem to recall thinking you looked disappointed as I left you,” she continued as she slid her hands back down to rest on the table again, beside her hips.

“I was,” Cullen admitted, his hands finding the tops of her thighs, his thumbs curling along the inside and teasing her. “But you were in no state – I couldn’t have…”

Lupa smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “I know.” She tipped her chin down and looked up at him through her lashes. “What did you do?”

Cullen sat back, finally, taking his hands back and giving his fully erect girth a few slow, practiced strokes. “Tell you what: the sooner you get up that ladder, the sooner I show you what I was thinking about doing to you that night.”

“I think I’ll sit here and watch you for a while first,” Lupa teased.

Cullen stopped, his gaze heavy as he stared at her. He reached for her hands, pulling her off the edge of the desk; before he could try to turn her around or direct her elsewhere, she dropped down to her knees in front of him.

“I love you, _da’mi,”_ she told him gently before leaning up and taking him in her mouth, her fingers digging in to his thighs as she tried to find purchase.

The little groan of relief that escaped him was all the response she needed.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Inquisitor.”

“How are you feeling?” Lupa asked.

“Better than I expected, if I’m being honest,” Blackwall answered her with a chuckle. “Have a good night? I saw Cullen had his effects this morning.”

“I sometimes do late night deliveries,” Lupa laughed.

They stood in the stables, standing in front of the fire Blackwall always warmed himself in front of. He seemed more grave than usual today, and Lupa was about to ask him about it when he spoke up again.

“You know, I’ve a hankering for company,” he told her. “Are you up to a midday drink?”

“I’m always up for a drink,” Lupa scoffed at him, and he laughed, the sound rumbling through the barn.

“To the tavern, then. After you, My Lady.”

They walked in silence, settling in at the bar and waving Cabot over with drinks.

They were almost halfway through their drinks about fifteen minutes later, and Blackwall _still_ hadn’t said anything.  

“Blackwall?” Lupa asked. She must have imagined him flinching. “Is everything okay?”

He sighed and took another pull from his mug before answering. “When I was a boy, there were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father’s house. One day, they found a dog. Wretched little thing. It must have been hungry; it went to them for food.”

Lupa’s eyes pinched at the corners. She had a feeling she knew where this story was going.

“They caught it, tied a rope around its neck, and strung it up.” Lupa closed her eyes and resisted the urge to whimper. Blackwall took another long gulp. “Do you know what I did?” he asked with a sneer as he set his tankard back down on the bar top just a little too loudly.

Lupa sighed sadly. His expression told her everything, but still she held out hope. “You cut it down? Ran for help?”

I did _nothing,”_ he growled. “Not a damn thing.” He stared down into the depth of his mug, as if his ale held the answers he seemed to be looking for. “It was crying. I could see the legs kicking, the neck straining and twisting… And I turned around. Went inside. Locked the door. I could have told my father – or alerted _anyone_. But I didn’t. I just pretended it wasn’t happening.”

Lupa didn’t try to hide her distress. Anyone who knew her knew this sort of thing would be upsetting to her. She could almost see her little Rom, the giant puppy that he was, dangling from a tree-

“You said you were just a boy,” she said instead.

“I was old enough to know that dog was suffering, and that it was wrong,” Blackwall snarled back. He finally looked up from his mug to face her again. “I may as well have tied that noose myself.”

He sighed heavily, and drank again, his expression softer but no less pained. “We _could_ make the world better. It’s just easier to shut our eyes.”

Lupa put a hand on his around his mug. He turned to look at her hand on his. “Nothing worth doing is easy,” she tried to console him.

His laugh was less bitter than she expected. “Look at you.” He shook his head slowly. “You would have done the right thing. We’re lucky there are people like you in the world.”

Lupa snorted. “I don’t know who you think I am,” she teased him, earning another warm laugh.

“There’s always some dog out there,” he started again as his expression sobered again. “Some fucking mongrel who just doesn’t know how to stay away.”

They fell back into an uncomfortable silence for another few minutes until Blackwall finished his drink. “Thank you for taking some time out of your day for me, My Lady. It’s been an honour serving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t better company.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, instead sliding off his bar stool and leaving the tavern without a backwards glance.

Lupa frowned deeply. Something was definitely wrong, but Blackwall clearly felt he couldn’t tell her outright. There had to be _some_ clue in what he’d just said…

She mulled it over as she pounded back what was left of her current drink, waving Cabot back over and asking for a second. She had just started on her third when Dorian came to sit next to her.

“Easy, there, love,” he told her. “How many is this, now?”

“Just three,” Lupa told him. “I just had the most bizarre talk with Blackwall, and I’m trying to puzzle through what he said.”

“And drinking is going to help with that?” Dorian asked, a brow arching at her.

She sighed deeply. “Maybe not.” She swirled the mead in her mug before taking a gulp. “Dorian?”

“Yes, love?”

“Don’t let me forget to check on him in the morning.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird chapter. I've been struggling to get to Blackwall's quest, because of things that are to come up around that? I need them to be in Val Royeaux together, basically. 
> 
> And then I remembered I hadn't done the Wicked Grace scene yet! 
> 
> There's a little throw in here for someone on Tumblr. I have an anon who loves possums (and therefore is named the Possum Anon, for those unfamiliar), and I wanted to be able to give them a little shout-out somehow! So I included one in this chapter. Possum Anon, I don't know if you're a reader or not, but if you are, I hope you enjoyed it!


	45. Touch Me With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update!
> 
> Dorian refuses to let Blackwall's reveal sour the mood for his two favourite Southerners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall's reveal is handled in a vignette titled 'Revelations'. It's in the series - you don't need to read it by any means, but if you wanted to, it goes well right before this chapter.

Lupa pinched the bridge of her nose as she thought over what Cullen had told her.

The image of the man down in the cell below, so broken, so defeated, was already haunting her. She should have known something wasn’t right, but she’d been too blinded by trust; perhaps if she had taken him travelling with her more often, she’d have picked up on it sooner.

She’d done her best to be strong for him, to show him that she was disappointed without having to say the words. He needed to know, just as he needed her to be strong. If she had shown any weakness, he would never have responded to her as he had.

Blackwall – no Rainer – _whoever_ , could be released to the Inquisition. She was well within her rights as Inquisitor to demand that he be released to her for judgement.

Romulus grumbled from her side about not picking up on this predicament sooner, and she placed a hand on his head to soothe him. He snorted in response.

“Get him out of here,” she finally decided. The strength of her voice surprised her.

Cullen’s nod was all business. “Of course, Inquisitor. He can stay here for a while longer. We’ll explore our options when we return to Skyhold.”

“Good. Now let _us_ get out of here and try to forget about this business for the rest of the day.”

She turned her back, but Cullen swept past her, his footfalls ringing off the stone floor as he raced to reach the door before her. He held it open as she approached, and she smiled at him in thanks as she passed him, Rom at her side.

“There you are! I was starting to wonder if they’d locked _you_ up. Dreadful business, wouldn’t you say? I think we all need to take the rest of the day to do something _fun_ and cheer ourselves up.”

Dorian was leaning against the railing of the stairs leading up to the courtyard above the jail lazily, checking his nails as he spoke.

“It’s a better idea than wallowing in pity,” Lupa answered with a half-hearted shrug.

“I thought you might agree. In that case, you and I are going shopping,” Dorian told her pointedly, before looking squarely at Cullen, “and _you_ are not invited.”

Lupa looked over at Cullen; his brow was furrowed slightly in disappointment. “But-”

“Trust me on this, Rutherford, you will thank me later. We will be back at the inn in time for dinner, I promise you.”

“We can always stay an extra day, do some shopping of our own tomorrow,” Lupa suggested. “I’m just as clueless to what this is all about as you are.”

Cullen nodded at her, smiling for her benefit. “I’ll be fine. It’s probably best this way, so I don’t bore you to near-death while I look at the weapons shops. Have fun,” he leaned down to press a quick kiss to her lips, “and I’ll see you later.”

He started down the steps, and while Lupa watched him go, she saw Dorian staring down Romulus out of the corner of her eye.

“You, too,” Dorian told him. Romulus snorted in response, but he took off through the crowd until he reached Cullen’s side.

“Dorian-” Lupa started, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“I know he’s disappointed, but _trust me_ , this will be worth it later tonight.” He waved for her to follow him, and she did, falling into place next to him as they walked. “The two of you are finally together in the most romantic city south of the Waking Sea together, and I refuse to allow you to let this opportunity go to waste. Now, there is a seamstress who I think you will absolutely adore not far from here, and I made your dinner reservations while you were busy interrogating whatever-his-name-is. I hope you have your good shoes on, because we are going to be very, very busy.”

Lupa sighed, but she smiled. She should have known this was what Dorian was thinking of.

“Thank you, Dorian.”

“Anything to make my two favourite Southerners happy.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen didn’t wander too far to start with.

He was startled when Romulus brushed against his side. “You, too?”

Rom just huffed in frustration at him.

They walked quietly back out into the courtyard where Blackwall’s – no, Rainier’s – reveal had been, ducking into the first weapons shop they saw. Rom stopped Cullen in the doorway, warning them that the shop they were in only sold schematics, but Cullen took his time to browse through them anyway. He ended up buying one that looked more promising for their soldiers before moving on.

They spent a good deal of time at the next shop, looking at a bunch of different things.

“See, Rom? This should sit perfectly level. The balance is off,” Cullen explained. Rom’s tail started wagging a little faster as he listened. “This sword would be an excellent upgrade for a squire beginning to learn real swordplay from a chevalier, but it would never do for a seasoned warrior like myself, or Seeker Pentaghast.”

He didn’t buy a new sword, but he did get some polishing oils and a new whetstone. “Just because one product doesn’t suit what I need, doesn’t mean nothing will. Some places just do some things better than others, while their competition succeeds in other areas.”

Cullen shook his head as he left the shop. Why the hell was he telling Romulus about his buying practices as if he were teaching a child how to shop?

The image of toddlers chasing each other danced before his eyes, and Cullen snorted. “Shut it, you,” he told Rom, who laughed.

They went into an armour shop next; Cullen was about to buy a new amulet he thought would be good for Lupa, but Rom suggested he wait until they did their rounds together tomorrow. She had a set-up that worked well for her already, and Cullen didn’t want to risk messing with it, in case she expected something different and ended up hurt.

When they left the shop, empty-handed, Romulus perked his ears and told Cullen there was a place he knew of that he might want to go while Lupa was otherwise occupied.

Cullen frowned in confusion, but agreed to follow.

Romulus led him through backstreet after alleyway, until they emerged onto another main road lined with shops about ten minutes later. They wound their way through the crowd, until Rom stopped in front of a shop with jewellery glittering in the window.

Cullen frowned. “Lupa’s been here?”

Romulus answered with an image of her carefully looking over the wares, and then leaving empty-handed.

“Is that the Inquisition’s Commander?”

“Eyeing a jewellery shop, no less.”

Cullen would have had no idea what they were saying if not for Rom; somehow, the language sorted itself out if he focused on listening through Romulus’ ears instead of his own. Or maybe Rom was projecting it on to him, he wasn’t sure.

“Rumour is that he and the Inquisitor are… intimate.”

“Her plaything, more like. I would not mind one so pretty as him to warm my bed at night.”

“Well, then, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to take a chance, does it?”

Rom turned his head to find the gossiping women and snarled audibly in their direction. Cullen got the chance to see them, finally, as they cowered.

“It just might, with the Inquisitor’s beast around.”

One of them sighed. “A shame, really, but it’s best you don’t get on its bad side, I think.”

Cullen huffed. “Come on, let’s go.”

He strode up the few steps to the front door and threw it open, gesturing Rom in ahead of him.

“Romulus!” a high voice squealed with excitement. “Hello, Inqui – oh. You’re… not the Inquisitor. I apologize, Commander.”

Cullen couldn’t help but let out a relieved chuckle. A young elven girl disappeared into the back room and returned with a handful of dried meat for Romulus. She looked young, maybe in her late teens.

“I wasn’t aware that the Inquisitor was such a frequent here that you keep treats.”

“Oh, well,” the girl replied sheepishly, “every elf in southern Thedas knows of the Lady Capitoline and her counterpart.” She nodded at Romulus. “Anyway, can I help with anything?”

Cullen cleared his throat and frowned. “Well, he just brought me here – I’m still not entirely sure…”

“Oh, of course! Take a look, and if you need any help, let me know.”

“Actually, do you have anything that’s more…” He paused, unsure of the best way to word his question.

“More ‘elfy’?” the girl smiled. “It’s all down this way. The nobles pay fortunes for this stuff.”

“Incredible how they look down on you and yet they try to be like you at the same time, isn’t it?”

The girl laughed. “I can see why Her Worship likes you, Commander.” She paused briefly. “Here’s everything we have – amulets, rings, earrings. The enchanted ones are all-”

Something had caught Cullen’s eye. “Those, there.” He pointed at a pair of rings, not unlike the ones Lupa regularly wore.

“Ah, good eye,” the girl nodded. “She fawns over those every time she’s in. A Dalish promising set.”

Cullen’s heart was pounding. There they were, absolutely perfect, and he knew he would spend every last gold piece he had on them.

One ring was much more bold, and yet unassuming – he thought it was the men’s ring – with a simple, wide white gold braid pattern, embossed with little carvings to suggest branches, or vines.  It had tiny rubies and garnets littered throughout, reminding him of new buds on a rose bush. A smaller, finer braided band sat next to it, the same motif repeated, but with a large solid ruby glittering on the top, carved into a rose with petals spread wide. Underneath were a few leaves studded with tiny emeralds and a few clear diamonds, as if dew had collected on them.

He looked down at Rom, who had his ears perked and tongue lolling out of his mouth in a lopsided grin.

“So _that’s_ why you brought me here.”

A wave of affirmation washed over him.

He frowned. Was he ready for this? He had never imagined that his life would turn out the way it had after joining the Templars. Already, what Lupa had given of herself seemed more than he had any right to ask. And yet…

He had his whole life ahead of him now. His whole future. He had told her that he had been thinking of it, and that was no lie. But to actually see it come to pass?

Nervous butterflies exploded in his stomach.

“There’s no rush, Commander – this is a big step,” the girl told him quietly.

Cullen nodded absently as he stared at them.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“Hey, Cullen. You got the shaft, too?”

Cullen slid into a seat next to Bull at the bar, but he didn’t order anything. He checked his pocket carefully before folding his hands on the bartop.

“It was a ‘no dogs’ day, and apparently that means me as well,” Cullen chuckled. “I’m trying not to take it personally.”

“I have to say, I’m glad they left me out of this, though it would have been fun,” Bull mused, taking a pull from his tankard. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before continuing. “Dorian can be insufferable. The poor Boss is probably about ready to burn his moustache off or something.”

Cullen frowned. “You know what they’re up to? Dorian didn’t mention.”

“Shit, good thing I didn’t say more then!” Bull laughed. “Trust me, Cullen, you’ll like it.”

“If you say so.” Cullen drummed his fingers on the table momentarily before reaching absently with one hand to scratch between Rom’s ears for him instead. “I wonder how long they-”

The door opened quietly, but the entire inn turned to look at the two figures walking in the door, the room falling silent for a few moments. Dorian and Lupa had more bags and parcels than Cullen thought he’d ever seen two people carry before. They carefully maneuvered their way to the steps leading up to the rooms.

Bull grumbled something about Lupa’s spending habits before pushing out of his stool and relieving them both of their loads. They followed him up the steps and out of sight.

Cullen let out a huff. “Well, looks like we weren’t the only ones to have a good shopping day,” he muttered. Rom grinned, his tongue falling from his mouth.

Bull was back in no more than five minutes. “Dorian wants to see you up in our room.”

“ _Your_ room?”

Bull nodded slowly. “If you value your life, you will _not_ go to yours.”

“What in Andraste’s name is going on here?” Cullen finally bit out. He was starting to get tired of all the run-arounds, of the secrecy. Did they think him a child to be kept in the dark?

“Listen, Cullen, all I can say is that it will be _worth it._ But if you see the Boss now, it’ll all be ruined.” Bull sighed. “I know it’s frustrating, but just… trust us on this.”

Cullen smacked a palm onto the bartop as he pushed himself to standing. “Fine, okay. I’ll go to your room.”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say,” Bull teased, but Cullen just shook his head, his footfalls loud and heavy as he made his way up the stairs.

He paused outside the door to his own room. He could hear hushed voices inside; no doubt Dorian was still busy helping Lupa with whatever was going on. He sighed, tempted to press his ear to the door and listen, but instead he took another few steps to the next door in the row.

He was surprised to find the room meticulous; even the parcels and bags were stacked neatly out of the way. There was an outfit laid out carefully on the bed, a pair of soft shoes standing at the end, and a handful of bottles lined up on the dresser. He didn’t look too closely at their labels, wondering if he should even be looking at them at all.

He was alone for only a couple of minutes before Dorian slipped through the door. “Ah, good, Bull sent you up. You have dinner reservations in about an hour and a half, and we need to make you presentable.”

“I have – what?” Cullen asked, taken aback. “Dinner reservations? Presentable? What’s wrong with-”

“Nothing is _wrong_ , but this is not a place that serves simple Fereldan fare. I think even _you_ can appreciate good Orlesian food, Cullen.” Dorian huffed, and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it aside before grabbing two of the little bottles from the dresser and disappearing into another adjoining room – if this room mirrored the one Cullen and Lupa were staying in, then it would be the water closet. “Get rid of your shirt – we are going to wash your hair _properly_ , and you’ll be changing anyway.”

Cullen nodded to himself as he slowly shed his layers. This… made a lot of sense now. All the shopping for new outfits and important things needed for fancy dinners. And if _he_ was getting dressed up…

He swallowed thickly as his undershirt fell from his hand to the floor. _Maker, what did he get for her to wear?_

Cullen pulled his boots off, too, before padding over to the water closet.

“I was wondering if you managed to get lost in your shirts,” Dorian poked at him. “Bend over, head there.”

Cullen decided not to comment as he complied.

He thought he heard Dorian snickering. “Hold your breath. Nod when you’re ready.”

Cullen sucked in a breath and held it, nodding even as Dorian scooped up a cupful of water out of one bowl and poured it over Cullen’s head. He groaned as Dorian worked the soap into his hair, fingers massaging against his scalp and down his neck.

“Hold your breath again.”

Cullen nodded, and then Dorian rinsed his hair clean before adding another mixture to it. One more rinse, and Cullen huffed as a towel fell around his face, hanging heavy on the back of his head.

Cullen rubbed the water out of his hair before tossing the towel aside. He fixed Dorian with an icy stare as the mage visibly fought back laughter.

“Fancy scalp massages won’t save you,” Cullen warned, but when he caught sight of himself in the large looking glass in the bedroom, he snickered at himself. “Okay, I need a comb and something to tame this. My hair oil is in my room.”

Dorian handed him a large tub. “Use this, it’s better than what you’ve got – trust me. You only need a little, and then you can comb.”

Cullen scooped out a little, rubbing it between his palms before mussing it into his hair. He watched Dorian take the outfit on the bed apart, piece by piece, as he combed his hair into place.

“Where did you manage to find _that?_ ” Cullen asked, astounded, when Dorian held up the tartan to inspect the seams.

“A very talented and popular seamstress whose work many a noble fawn over,” Dorian told him absently. “Only the wealthiest of Fereldan highborns can claim to have a piece of her work in their wardrobe. Consider it a lifetime gift.”

“How did you manage to get one, then?”

“Ferelden is not the wealthiest of nations, Cullen,” Dorian reminded him. “Besides, I have connections. One thing she refused me on was making sure you matched.” His face screwed up as he imitated the seamstress, head bobbing side to side. “‘ _Absolutely not. Zis man’s rise to nobility eez srough his efforts for ze Inquisission, his colours must reflect zis!’”_

Cullen snorted.

“She is _not_ a woman to be argued with,” Dorian finally stated with a chuckle. “Now, you are aware of how this goes together?” Cullen nodded; he was reasonably sure of what it entailed. “Good. I am going to go next door and check on Miss Lavellan while you change. I will be back in a few minutes.”

“Dorian, wait!” Cullen almost yelled, surging forward. He stumbled when Dorian turned around before he could grab him. “I, um… can I get your opinion on something? This really, _really_ needs to stay between you and me.”

Dorian’s brows shot up. “What did you do?”

Cullen opened his mouth to explain, but found it suddenly dry. He swallowed thickly as nervous butterflies exploded in his stomach. What if he’d made the wrong choice today? What if Dorian told him-

“Show me,” Dorian demanded, breaking him out of his trance. He felt his own hand closing around the outside of his pocket, the mage’s gaze glued to the motion with a curious light in his eyes.

Cullen carefully smoothed his palm down his leg before reaching into his pocket, pulling out two small black boxes. He handed them to Dorian silently, holding his breath as he awaited a reaction.

Dorian popped the lids open, and Cullen breathed out a sigh of relief at the way Dorian’s expression softened. There was silence for another ten seconds or so.

“For me?” Dorian finally teased. “I’m afraid of how Lupa will take the disappointment.”

Cullen reached out and playfully punched Dorian in the shoulder, making him waver for a moment. Dorian’s moustache pulled up with the corner of his mouth as he smirked, and Cullen heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

“There are stunning. Absolutely perfect. You’re not planning on doing this tonight, are you?”

Cullen shook his head. “I had no plan,” he admitted. “Rom just took me to this shop, and there they were – I had to get them. They’re a Dalish set.”

Dorian nodded. “Well, Cullen, I think you did well. But I also think you should make sure you’re ready before you give these. You know she does _not_ take those sorts of things lightly.”

“Neither do I,” Cullen reminded him.

“And that is one of many reasons why you two are so good for each other.” Dorian stared at Cullen for a moment in silence before snapping the lids closed and tackling him with a hug.

Cullen laughed as his arms closed around Dorian’s back. It was a strange sort of embrace, the kind he only had vague childhood memories of sharing with his brother. It was warm and comforting, and he couldn’t help but let out another shaky laugh.

Dorian pulled back and placed a hand on Cullen’s bare shoulder, ring boxes in the other as it fell to his side. His eyes looked a little red, the kohl around the rims smudged. “Look at you! They grow up so fast – _hey!”_ Dorian laughed as Cullen punched him again.

But Cullen couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off his own face as Dorian handed him the little ring boxes back. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“Oh, this is so _exciting!_ ” Dorian exclaimed as he spun on his heel, pacing quickly to the door and pausing behind it, a hand reaching up to wipe at his cheeks. “Right, get dressed, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Cullen waited until the door _snapped_ shut before he began to untie the lacing of his breeches.

 

*                             *                             *

 

Cullen adjusted himself to make sure everything was properly in place as he stood in front of the floor-length looking glass in the water closet. The tartan on his kilt was a handsome Inquisition green, with real gold and silver threading for accents against the Chantry red. He had it folded neatly, traditionally, exactly how his father had taught him all those years ago when he’d help dress the village men for their weddings.

His hose and brogues were in place, his dress jacket in black silk with polished silver double-breasting sitting perfectly on his shoulders. He curled his arms forward, and was glad to feel that there was no tug in his back like his dress jacket Josephine had got him.

“Oh, good, I got it right,” Dorian sighed as Cullen watched him lean against the doorframe in the glass. “I was worried I may have estimated a little too narrow. Do you have everything?”

Cullen patted himself down. Kilt folded and pinned, shoes and socks, jacket, belts and sashes, fancy ceremonial sword (that he hopefully wouldn’t actually need to use).

“I just need the sporran.”

Dorian nodded sideways. “It’s still on the bed. Shall I fetch it for you?”

Cullen shook his head and turned away from the looking glass, striding past Dorian into the other room in a daze. He gathered up the empty sporran and carefully secured it in place around his hips, the little purse sitting squarely in the front of his kilt.

He flipped the top of the sporran open, carefully placing his bag of gold inside. He reached for the boxes of rings sitting next to them, but Dorian’s hand fell on his for a moment. He looked up curiously, and Dorian shook his head.

“Let me keep them for you. You know there’s a chance that she’ll find them if you keep them,” Dorian told him. “If she sees me with them, she’ll be none the wiser. Hopefully. I can tell her I’m holding them for one of the librarians, or something to that effect.”

Cullen took a deep breath and nodded again. “Okay.” He looked down at the little black boxes again and heaved a sigh. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to wear one of these. We had a bunch of ratty old tartans in varying colours for the young men on their weddings. I helped my father dress the boys every year before I left for Templar training – it’s the only reason I know anything about them. And for us low-born village boys, it was the only day of our lives where we’d get to wear one.” The corners of his lips turned upwards in disbelief, a huff of laughter escaping through his nose. “And now look at me. A brand new tartan – and to _my name_ , at that. This is a house Rutherford tartan. If only my father could see me now…Mia is going to be beside herself, never mind Bran. Thank you for this, Dorian. I wish I had a better way of saying it.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes, well. It’s the least I could do.” He seemed uncomfortable, but Cullen could feel the pride radiating off of him. “Now, are you ready to go? Your lady is already downstairs waiting, and if you stall any longer, you will be late for your dinner reservation.”

Cullen nodded, but first he closed the distance between them and hugged Dorian again, hard; he could hear the air whooshing from the mage’s lungs before arms circled his back.

“Thank you,” Cullen told him again.

Dorian pulled back and shoved Cullen towards the door gently. “Get out of here before you make me ruin my eyes. _Again._ ”

Cullen gave him one last smile over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut behind him.

He took a deep breath once he was out in the hall. He felt…well, he felt _good,_ really, but also suddenly very nervous. He’d never done this whole ‘go out for a romantic dinner’ thing before, and he was terribly conspicuous. There would be a good number of eyes on him no matter where he went tonight.

But his outfit was comfortable, and Maker be praised, _familiar._ There would be no mistaking him for an Orlesian tonight. He was a marked Fereldan, and the knowledge straightened his spine and squared his shoulders again.

He strode confidently for the stairs down into the lobby of the inn they were staying at. The sound of his brogues _clicking_ against the floor was comforting – it was a sharper sort of sound than his boots, and made him feel strangely grown-up.

One last deep breath at the top of the steps, and then he took them one at a time, letting the air out of his lungs slowly-

Only to gasp as he stopped dead in his tracks at the bottom of the staircase.

His gaze was drawn to her like a moth to a flame; she was all he could see. And Maker help him, but he didn’t know where to start looking.

He registered briefly the way her hair was styled, in fancy curls that cascaded down her open back – but he was drawn then to the way they left the length of her neck exposed, and he followed it first across the expanses of her shoulders, left uncovered by her dress, before following it back up to the soft line of her jaw. She turned to look at Varric, who was keeping her company with Bianca in hand, and he swallowed thickly to see just how much of her back was exposed.

It was then that he realized just how truly scandalous her dress was. The design on it was in a deep midnight blue, but between the clusters of whatever-it-was (it was hard to tell from his distance) was sheer fabric, which meant that the pale colour he was seeing through it was her skin. He could even faintly pick up the lines of her tattoos beneath, knowing them as well as he did. And the cut of it was perfect for her, too, accentuating her small waist and falling straight to the floor from her wide hips.

Cullen suddenly made eye contact with Varric, who nodded with his chin in Cullen’s direction. Lupa spun around slowly to look at him, and he breathed a silent prayer to the Maker that he had been smart enough to weigh his sporran down so much.

His feet starting carrying him closer without thought. He realized suddenly that there were rings on her bottom lip and in her nose that hadn’t been there before: two simple, fine silver rings next to each other on the left side of her bottom lip, and a fancy gold and diamond one hanging from the middle of her nose. Her lips had been stained a deep wine red, and when he finally stopped in front of her, he could see that her eyelashes had been painted, too, in a not-quite-matching shade of orange, thicker than what was natural for her.

Her collarbones were drawing his gaze again, and he followed the collar of her dress, from the wide set against the curve of her shoulder, to the rounded shape over her breasts, to the tiny sharp ‘v’ in the valley. He could tell now that the design on her dress was a leafy one.

“Do you like it?” she asked him shyly as she reached up to rub the end of her right ear. He followed the movement, capturing her long-fingered hand in his own before it reached its destination. A fine gold chain fell from her wrist, settling against the cuff of her long sleeve, which ended about halfway down her forearm.

He pressed her knuckles to his lips before letting their hands fall. His fingers lingered against hers. “You are absolutely breathtaking.”

She quietly huffed out an embarrassed laugh, a grin crinkling her eyes. “I’m glad this fits you properly. Dorian was so worried he’d got your measurements wrong.”

“He did a good job, actually.”

“We owe him for this.”

“Big time,” Cullen agreed. He let her hand go, and instead offered her his arm. “Shall we, My Lady?”

“I’d be honoured,” Lupa smiled brightly as she took it. He swept her out the door, and then stopped.

“Er, I just realized-”

She laughed kindly at him. “Don’t worry, I know the way.”

“Then lead on, My Lady,” Cullen answered her.

Never in his life had he imagined he would be led off to an expensive dinner date with the most beautiful and intriguing woman in Thedas, and yet, here he was.

In a kilt, no less – _his_ kilt.

He chuckled to himself, and Lupa turned to look at him. “What?” she asked with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” he told her. “I’m just… _happy.”_ She smiled brightly, and he couldn’t help himself; he used his free hand to hook a finger under her chin so he could kiss her. It was gentle, soft and lingering, leaving promises of so much more to come. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, you crazy man. Now come on, I’m _starving.”_

They both laughed loudly as they continued on their way, oblivious to the shocked and envious stares that followed them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to wonder if I'm dragging my feet so much on updates for this because I'm afraid of letting it finish. We're getting close, I think - maybe ten more chapters? There's not a whole lot left before they take off to the Arbor Wilds... 
> 
> In case you weren't aware before, I'm really bad at story planning. So when I say ten chapters, I have no idea what I'm talking about. 
> 
> I also want to apologize quickly to my subscribers for the update spam with all of my tumblr drabbles. I've still got like 90 blog pages to go through to find more pieces, so there are probably a bunch more emails from me to come?


	46. I'm So Sorry, Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an actual chapter, but a word from the author.

So, guys, this isn't really a chapter, and for that, I'm really,  _really_ sorry. 

 

This fic, and the series in general, was an absolutely  _huge_ undertaking for me. I had never written anything on this scale before - this was my very first fic that I ever wrote more than a single page of, and absolutely the first one I ever shared with the world. It always has and always will hold a special place in my heart. 

But... as much as I absolutely love and adore Dragon Age, I'm burnt out on it. I really, truly am. If you happen to subscribe to me as an author, you've probably seen the Fire Emblem fics I've been publishing. Being sucked into another fandom never really helps your burnout. It just makes you feel even more guilty when you look at that next chapter that's in the works. You think, "Shit, I owe it to my readers to get back to that," and then you open it, and you  _try_ , but none of it is  _good._  

So I hope you'll consider this my apology. I have no intention of truly letting this fic die - Lupa and Rom are my babies, and I love them dearly, and Cullen deserves all the happiness in the world. I want to show you how Lupa and Rom's relationship with Solas unfolds. But I just... can't do it in a way that I'm confident publishing right now. 

If anyone is interested, I do still occasionally reblog Dragon Age things on my Tumblr:  **lupalavellan.tumblr.com**. It is mostly Fire Emblem now, but I am always happy to have a Dragon Age discussion, too!

Let this be my apology for the wait. And my promise that the fic  _will_ get finished - it just might not be updated for another few months again still. I need to get out of my Dragon Age saturation so that I can return to it all with the same level of passion and motivation that I had when I started it. I love you, and thank you for reading! 


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